A visible shudder wracks her thin frame. “I have a thing about horses.” “A thing?” I ask. Okay, call me curious. She shies away, closer into a corner. Her shoulders hike up toward her ears. “I don’t like them.” Of course she doesn’t. “How do you not like a horse?” I move to the next stall. Inside, my Appaloosa chuffs. “This little fucker is Eephus. He’s tried to kill me numerous times. He’s the most incompetent, useless gelding I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. And I still love the bastard.”
