Apples, Appaloosa and Alibis by Maria Swan (feel good novels TXT) 📕

“Hi, Brenda.” Bob stretched his arms and looked around. “I’m here semi-officially. Tristan is taking his horse back up to Phoenix, and we want to make sure all goes smoothly. No surprises.”

“First I need to go talk to Ernie Lopez about the missing money.” Tristan seemed drained of all energy. I had the impression he was waiting for an answer, but all he got was a nod from Brenda. “Okay then, I’ll be brief. I’ll like to get back on the road as soon as possible.”

That was my cue to ask for food.

“I’ll make you something quick,” Brenda said. “I’m about all packed up, why don’t you run and get Dior? He’ll be happy to see you. He’s back by the horse stalls. No need to go look, he’ll see you first, I bet.”

I had hoped for something to eat now. Oh well.

She must have read my mind. “Monica, here.” She pulled a red apple from her pocket. I hesitated. “What? Are we playing Snow White and the Wicked Queen now?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m still whipping you up some food, but you can munch on that. Got a big basket of fresh apples, I have baked a few pies. They are still too warm to cut. Take it. Go.” She turned and walked away, chatting with Bob. “Bob, what’s this story about a dead body? I feel like I’ve been away from civilization...” Even while walking away I could hear the disappointment in her voice. Wait until Bob tells her about Angelique’s latest pile of lies.

The ranch exuded a sense of abandonment, maybe it was the time of the day. With the light fading and horses and workers nowhere in sight. Except, it was much more than that, and I couldn’t quite explain. But I did get why Brenda wanted to go home. This place felt lifeless, sad. Like an old, abandoned town where the buildings and the streets are still there, but the humans, the beating hearts, aren’t.

I quickened my pace and headed for the far side of the ranch where new stables and stalls had been built. I could see the horse trailer. It wasn’t hooked to anything, just sitting there close to the fence separating blacktop from grass. In the same parking area I noticed a few pickup trucks, dusty and very plain looking. Now I understood Tristan’s comment about the ride back in the truck not being very comfortable.

I took a bite of the apple. It tasted crispier and sweeter than any apple I ever bought at Fry’s.

Damn, not a soul around. Did all the workers go to town after work? Yet the pickups had windows rolled down, and one even had a few bales of hay in the bed. Weird. Then it hit me—it was Saturday night. I guess they had all earned the right to let their hair down. I loved that American expression, let your hair down. What about the bald-headed ones? I mean, this place was for retired folks, sort of.

I was still snickering to myself when I heard barking. Dior must have spotted me. He ran toward me, crossing the large expanse of grass that didn’t seem so green up close and personal. Lots of brown patches dotted the pasture, a sure sign of neglect.

From inside a few of the stalls there was movement, a horse head bobbing, checking out the action from the half-open Dutch barn door. The gate on the largest stall at the very end was wide open, and just as Dior got closer, I heard a nicker, and Tache, with her unmistakable spotted coat, appeared. Her head shot up. Her neck tensed as if listening for a voice, a call. Looking for Tristan maybe? Poor baby.

She pawed her front hooves, and then simply walked out of the stall and gingerly trotted over to where I stood fighting off Dior’s enthusiastic wet kisses.

“Stop it, Dior.” I giggled. “You’ll knock me down, you silly pooch.”

He stopped. Wow. That was a first. Maybe my voice got stronger? More decisive? Or maybe it wasn’t about my voice at all because Tache had also stopped in her tracks, and both Dior and the mare looked toward the stalls.

A man pushing a wheelbarrow emerged. Either the man was old and weak or the wheelbarrow carried a few tons of something. Because even as he pushed, the thing only moved by inches. Should I offer to help? Really, Monica? Help? You can’t even carry a twenty-five-pound sack of dog food from the car to the house. Regardless, it was the polite thing to do.

I headed his way, unsure the dude had noticed me, us. What a trio we made. Dior stayed close to me, but Tache wasn’t interested. She snorted and pawed again as she had earlier.

“Okay then, you stay put, girl. Your dad will be here to get you any minute now.”

I quickened my pace, and so did Dior. Suddenly the lights came on, startling me for a moment. I called out to the poor man. “Hello, hello there, can I help?”

He seemed to notice me for the first time but didn’t answer and increased his efforts. Now the wheelbarrow moved faster, but as he reached the end of the raised concrete path the wheel went over. He lost control and the thing slid sideways. Stuff fell out. Well I could sure help with that. Luckily it all happened right under a lamp. Dior had suddenly become sluggish, as if he decided he didn’t want any part of my mercy mission.

“Hi, I can give you a hand. Where do you need to take all this?” I glanced at the items scattered on the ground, two horse saddles and other equine-related items I had seen before but didn’t know what they were called. One of the saddles looked familiar and according to the book I’d read about saddles while researching a gift for Tristan, expensive. Familiar and expensive?

Suddenly I noticed something else standing next to the