Read Golden Filly Collection Two for Free Online Page B

and bubbled its way up. She bit it back, but when Stokes came up with a topper she couldn’t help it. The giggle escaped.
    Red took her hand in his and stroked her fingers. She felt his smile and encouragement clear back down where that giggle had started. When she leaned back again, his arm cushioned her head.
    His next joke was even more outrageous.
    “You two trying to develop a comedy act or something?” she finally asked. “I think you could go on stage right now.”
    “Really?” Red drawled, wriggling his eyebrows like Groucho Marx.
    Trish shook her head. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
    “Crazy about yoo-hoo-hoo-hoo,” Red crooned. His eyebrows contorted again, and he let out a long yodel.
    “I can’t believe this.” She stared from one to the other. “Did you two know each other before?”
    “Before what?” Stokes raised his shoulders in a question.
    “Before this trip!”
    Red leaned forward to peer around Trish. “Do I know you, sir?”
    “Beats me. Where’d you find her?”
    “Hey, you’re a poet!” They high-fived hands, nearly crushing Trish between them.
    Trish groaned. “Hadn’t you better think about driving?”
    Stokes grinned at her, showing a chipped front tooth. Sandy hair curled from under his weathered and bent straw hat. “You doubtin’ my driving?”
    “No, it’s just that—well—we had an accident on the way up this stretch of road and my dad…” The light went out again, and Trish bit down on her lip.
    Nagger slipped in around her guard. Here you are having a good time—laughing even—when you should be grieving for your father. When she shuddered, Red’s arm held her tighter. She couldn’t look up to see the sympathy in his eyes. She just closed hers and prayed the miles would disappear. Maybe they should have flown the horses. But Spitfire hated loud noises, so her father had decided to truck him down.
    Back to her father again. Everything always came back to him. Trish left off gnawing on her lip and attacked a torn cuticle on her left thumb.
    When they stopped for lunch, they checked on the horses first. Spitfire nickered his welcome as soon as he heard Trish’s voice. Sarah’s Pride stamped her front foot and pawed at the rubber-coated flooring.
    “You two behave now,” Trish whispered as she gave Spitfire an extra scratching. He nudged her pocket, looking for the carrot she always carried. “Sorry, fella, I’m fresh out.” She patted his rump on her way past. “You’ll live without a treat this time.” That’s something else to remember to tell the new groom. Always carry carrots. Somehow the reminder didn’t make her feel any better.
    After pushing her lunch around on the plate so it looked like she’d eaten, Trish dug out her book bag before climbing back into the truck. But knowing she had to review for her finals and doing it were two different things. Her eyes kept drooping shut. An hour or so down the road and the book clunked to the floor.
    Red drew her over to rest on his shoulder as he leaned back against the door.
    Darkness had fallen long before the truck turned onto New Circle Road, the highway that encircled Lexington. Stokes followed the signs to Old Frankfort Pike, right in the heart of bluegrass country. Headlights flashed on both black and white board fences as the road narrowed.
    The BlueMist Farms sign leaped into the headlight glare. White board fences lined both sides of the long curving drive. A magnificent white house in traditional southern plantation style graced a knoll off to their right. The road to the barns crossed a creek and passed a pond before ending in a graveled parking area.
    Trish rubbed her eyes and stretched. While she’d only slept for a couple of hours, she felt as if they’d been in the truck for days. “What time is it?”
    Red looked at his watch. “About ten-thirty. We made good time.”
    “Let’s get them out and walk ’em around.” Patrick stepped out of his car and arched his back. He