Montana Red
Stealing a horse scared her wildly, much more than she'd imagined it would—which must've been at least a hundred times just today.
Nothing was happening as she'd expected. Ariel didn't nicker a greeting and the security lights weren't shining much farther inside than the doorway and, even if they were, sweat was running into her eyes, stinging them so badly she couldn't see. Clea squinted into the narrow cone of light emanating from the tiny flashlight she wore around her neck and then took another step.
She couldn't breathe.And not just because the humidity was niney-nine percent. It was a bold, hard job, this horse-thieving business.
What had Brock been thinking, building a barn with no air-conditioning? She couldn't imagine that, either. People would be saying he was cutting corners, in financial trouble. Brock's image was what drove him.
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