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    The Good Horse, The Bad Man & The Ugly Woman (a Lighthearted Story of Self-Empowerment)
    The Good Horse, The Bad Man & The Ugly Woman (a Lighthearted Story of Self-Empowerment)
    The Good Horse, The Bad Man & The Ugly Woman (a Lighthearted Story of Self-Empowerment)
    Ebook105 pages1 hour

    The Good Horse, The Bad Man & The Ugly Woman (a Lighthearted Story of Self-Empowerment)

    By Candace Carrabus

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Meet Maureen Smith—a 50-something empty nester—for whom a boring job, bushy hair, busy husband, and bird feeders add up to a life of tranquility.

    And ennui.

    When...

    ~her breakfast granola spells out the word Help
    ~her boss goes out of town and insists Maureen care for a horse
    ~the horse runs Maureen down
    ~the boss's angry ex shows up claiming the horse as his own

    ...life becomes chaotic!

    And exciting.

    Mix in a wacky receptionist/rescuer of hair, a worried husband bent on changing his ways, a helpful horse transporter with a wandering eye, and you have all the ingredients for another light-hearted Witting Woman ebook.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCandace Carrabus
    Release dateJul 8, 2014
    ISBN9780989605755
    The Good Horse, The Bad Man & The Ugly Woman (a Lighthearted Story of Self-Empowerment)
    Author

    Candace Carrabus

    I have written stories and ridden horses--frequently simultaneously--for as long as I can remember. I grew up on Long Island and spent my formative years in the saddle--just imagining.Not surprisingly, my stories are usually infused with the mystery and spirituality horses have brought to my life.My philosophy, in brief :: (No, not in briefs, but that's a nice image, thank you very much.)We are all immigrants in spirit, with our minds, hearts, and souls being the final frontier.Yep, that's it.I've discovered this is what happens to all my main characters--whether by choice or accident or design--they go somewhere else.They immigrate.At first, this change is external--physical. Over time, their journeys lead to a place of discovery and growth that is within each individual alone. The final frontier to which we all can go.Boldly go . . .Go on.Go.Awards and suchRaver -- Book One of the HorsecallerFirst place, Sci-Fi/Fantasy novel, Oklahoma Writers Federation, 2003First place, Paranormal, Toronto Romance Writers, 2005Winterlight (now known as On the Buckle)Third place, Single Title Contemporary, Toronto Romance Writers, 2005A Farmer at LastSecond place, Essay, Oklahoma Writers’ Federation, 2003WomanThird place, Poetry Unrhymed Short, Oklahoma Writers’ Federation, 2003Unending MemorySecond place, Saturday Writers Poetry Contest

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      Book preview

      The Good Horse, The Bad Man & The Ugly Woman (a Lighthearted Story of Self-Empowerment) - Candace Carrabus

      The Good Horse,

      The Bad Man &

      The Ugly Woman

      Candace Carrabus

      The Good Horse, The Bad Man & The Ugly Woman

      Published by Witting Woman Works

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. For information email: publisher@thewitting.com

      All rights reserved

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright © 2014 by Candace Carrabus Rice / candacecarrabus.com

      Cover illustrations © ArtParts /

      Ron and Joe, Inc. www.ronandjoe.com

      Cover design by Candace Carrabus Rice

      Witting Woman Works and the leaping maiden, mother, and crone image are trademarks.

      For all the horses I've loved and lost.

      A lovely horse is always an experience.

      It is an emotional experience of the kind that is spoiled by words.

      Beryl Markham

      CHAPTER ONE

      Monday morning, Maureen's high-fiber granola arranged itself into the word Help. While waiting for the cereal to get just a little past crunchy, she'd stared out the window at the downpour beating petals off her petunias. Spring had been wet, and summer promised more of the same. The grass needed mowing, but the yard squished when she walked on it. If the sun came out today, steam would make her unruly hair frizz completely out of control.

      Difficult to muster even a thimbleful of concern one way or the other. For any of it.

      When she looked back at her bowl, ready to dip her spoon, there it was, floating neatly atop the milk.

      Help.

      She blinked. Still there. Was someone drowning in her breakfast? She groped for her phone to take a picture, but her satchel of a purse fought back, and by the time she wrestled the tiny device from its cavernous depths, the letters dispersed.

      She frowned at the bowl, then glanced around, listening. No one else in the house. Gordon was away on business, as usual. Their youngest, Gideon, was at college, or better be. And Gordon Jr. probably tended the twins while their mother went for her morning run.

      No, no one was playing tricks on her. Except maybe her imagination. She'd heard stories from other women--women of a certain age--about weird things happening when the body began to change, when hormones once again took the female form hostage.

      Certainly, sleep had been elusive, and her wretched boss just kept piling on the work. With Gordon gone more often than not, Gordon Jr. a new dad, and Gideon in his third year of engineering school, she'd welcomed the extra hours, the distraction, and had been working late.

      That must be it, she decided as she brushed her teeth. Overwork, not enough rest, hormones.

      Nothing wrong.

      She squinted at her reflection and combed more mousse into her fuzzy hair. It didn't help. More coarse gray strands every day didn't help, either. She sighed.

      Nothing wrong.

      Nothing right.

      She pushed the wordy cereal out of her mind thinking there'd better be a good bonus or maybe even a raise in her near future. She'd use it to visit her grand babies. Gordon wouldn't mind. He couldn't muster enthusiasm for much of anything lately, either.

      The interior of the car held a whiff of mustiness after sitting in a hot, stuffy garage all weekend. She cranked up the air-conditioning and punched radio buttons, settling on the oldies, catching the tail end of a Rolling Stones fave before the Beatles launched into Help!

      Maureen stamped the brakes and spilled hot coffee down the front of her new blouse. Their neighbor, Mrs. Jones--they always shared a laugh about the Smiths and Joneses living right next to each other--waved from her front porch. Absently, Maureen fluttered her fingers in the other woman's direction, dabbed at her chest with a tissue, then continued.

      Her eyes darted between the radio and the road ahead. Sweat snuck past her antiperspirant. She didn't believe in messages from the unseen, wasn't even sure there was an unseen, or any of the other new-age claptrap spouted by their receptionist, Jasmine. It was just a weird coincidence. She changed the station and listened to news the rest of the way to the office.

      Where it quickly became clear, her day was not going to get better. The wretched boss leaned her tall, blonde self against the door jamb of Maureen's office. Courtney Wednesday Murphy--honestly, what were her parents thinking?--tried to look casual, but an impatiently tapping foot gave her away.

      What now?

      Maureen squeezed past without a word, Courtney's signature floral scent smelling as stale as the car had.

      I need your help, Courtney said before Maureen got her purse stuffed in the bottom desk drawer.

      Maureen's head snapped up as her boss shut the door and approached, holding out a folded piece of paper. Another weird coincidence, that choice of words. That's what her rational brain insisted. But her not-so-rational heart kicked up a notch. She stood frozen, halfway between sitting and standing, staring at the folded paper as if it contained her death sentence.

      Everything you need to know is right here.

      Everything I need to know about--

      I probably won't have cell service, Courtney rushed on. But if you have to, leave a message, and I'll try to get back to you in a couple of days.

      She spun on her stiletto heel, and Maureen could only gape at the woman's back as she put a manicured hand on the door knob. The wretched boss was never out of touch with the office. Maureen's intestines began to weave themselves into a knot.

      Days? she squeaked.

      Courtney turned without opening the door, her posture stiff. She didn't make eye contact. Courtney Wednesday was big on eye contact.

      I need to get away for a while. It's all square with upper management. They know you're the one who really handles all the daily stuff. She rubbed her palms down her hips, glanced out the window, and huffed.

      That's when Maureen realized Courtney Wednesday Murphy--always in control, always neatly turned out, always organized down to the moment--looked...frazzled. Several bleached strands had dared to escape their meticulous French twist. Even though it was early, mascara smudged her lower lids. Chipped nail polish, a run in her stockings, and, as she folded herself into a side chair, the overhead lights revealed a spot on the front of her

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