Read Swan Song (Julie O'Hara Mystery Series) for Free Online

said Joe. “Most people don’t. It’s funny, because it all started here. Ponce de Leon brought the horses, and the cattle, too. Hundreds of years ago, the Florida Panhandle had dozens of cattle ranches. In fact, Texas Longhorn cattle are descendants. The Seminole Indians and the settlers had herds, too, all over the state. So, when the railroads came, Florida was all set to become a major beef and leather supplier for the Confederacy. After the civil war, the state became a supplier for the whole country. It’s a huge business in Florida.
    “But you’re right, it’s different here. There’s not a lot of fenced pasture. The big herds are mostly on open range all the way down to Lake Okeechobee. It’s a challenge for cowboys, Julie. They have to round them up over miles of open plain, rivers, hammocks and swamp. You ask me, I think it’s a lot easier to be a cowboy out west.”
    He took an exit and they were on a two-lane country road, lined on both sides with wood corral fencing. Julie spotted a few horses as they drove along. After a few minutes, they saw a green and black sign rimmed in gold: Pleasure Ride Farm. A matching green and black arch with the circled brand PR spanned the entrance. Joe slowed and turned right onto a long, red dirt road.
    The pastures were lush with giant trees, many hung with lacy hems of Spanish moss. It was late afternoon and their long shadows striped the lawns with every shade of green and gold. The horses were more plentiful here, some right along the fence. Julie was tempted to ask him to stop so she could pet them. Feeling childish, she kept that to herself.
    “You were right, Joe. This is a beautiful farm.”
    They passed a white stable with green and black trim, where some horses and riders were gathered. Considering the time of day, Julie thought they must be returning from a trail ride. Ahead of them sprawled a white ranch house with black shutters and a green door.
    “Lincoln’s cottage is past the main house, near the barn, over there,” said Joe.
    Rather than park out in front of the ten-stall barn, he swung around to the side. Julie could see Lincoln Tyler’s cottage off to the right. Like all the buildings, it was painted white with green and black trim. On the left, the west-facing doors to the barn stood open, allowing the late afternoon sun to pour in.
    “C’mon,” said Joe.
    Julie followed him inside. The uneven, well worn floor was covered with bits of straw and dirt, and the smell of horses, hay and leather was heady. It was earthy and satisfying. They walked down the center, all the way to the end, admiring the animals in their stalls. Julie finally succumbed to her inner horse-lover and stopped to stroke the velvety, golden nose of a curious palomino mare.
    The slow clip-clop of a horse entering the barn caught their attention and they turned. The horse and the man leading him were dark figures, starkly silhouetted by the brilliant sun.
    “Hello, Mr. Garrett.”
    As he neared and her eyes adjusted, Julie caught her breath.
    He looks just like James Dean. Well worth a trip to Ocala, Dianna.
    “Hi, Linc,” said Joe. “This is my friend, Julie O’Hara. Julie, this is Lincoln Tyler.”
    “Linc,” he said, sticking out his hand.
    He’s not young. Not old, either; early thirties maybe? Even his mannerisms are like Dean’s; the off-center smile, the shy, downward glance.
    “Just give me a minute,” he said, “’til I get him settled in.”
    He led the big chestnut stallion into his stall and removed the horse’s blanket. A couple of pats on the horse’s back and he latched the gate.
    “Let’s go in here,” he said, leading the way to a tack room off the center of the barn.
    It was a spacious room, surprisingly warm and comfortable. A scarred oak desk and three chairs, black leather cushions tied to the seats, were on the right. Saddles and bridles hung on pegs over a long bench on the left wall, while closed cabinets covered the far wall. Julie