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Cold Backed, A Short Dream Horse Mystery Prologue
Cold Backed, A Short Dream Horse Mystery Prologue
Cold Backed, A Short Dream Horse Mystery Prologue
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Cold Backed, A Short Dream Horse Mystery Prologue

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Viola Parker can’t land a job since the famous jumper, Wastrel, crashed to his death with her aboard. She can barely afford her whipped-cream-in-a-can addiction.

When she finds her mentor unconscious, she suspects foul play and wonders if her old friend Harry has answers. But Harry disappears with the truth, leaving behind a mysterious delivery and cryptic confession.

A short story prologue to On the Buckle, Dream Horse Mystery #1.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateJun 5, 2018
ISBN9780463362594
Cold Backed, A Short Dream Horse Mystery Prologue
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

    Cold Backed, A Short Dream Horse Mystery Prologue - Candace Carrabus

    Cold Backed

    Cold Backed

    A Dream Horse Mystery Prequel

    Candace Carrabus

    Copyright © 2017 by Candace Carrabus

    All rights reserved.

    This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

    Publisher: Witting Woman Works

    Cover design by Molly Phipps

    Created with Vellum Created with Vellum

    Contents

    Round 1

    Round 2

    Sneak Peak at On the Buckle, Dream Horse Mystery #1

    About the Author

    Also by Candace Carrabus

    Round 1

    Aharsh morning breeze sang sharp notes of coming winter, steaming horse manure, and dejection—mine.

    I’d come to the show hoping to catch a few rides, make a few dollars, but no one needed help. Or no one wanted me. One pervy guy leered, grabbed his crotch, and said he’d like a ride.

    Nice as could be, I asked, And aren’t you a quelling rump-fed maggot-pie?

    He stood there collecting flies for a moment then sputtered, Yeah well, you’re…you’re…

    Smarter than you, that’s what. I walked away, not feeling particularly virtuous or victorious.

    I took my weak horse-show coffee outside and sank to the damp ground against the wheel of a horse trailer out of the wind, letting the feeble sun bathe my face, trying to decide whether to stay or go home and nurse the ferocious hangover pounding my head.

    Reason for said hangover chose that moment to appear, looking more dapper than anyone who’d drunk me under the table had a right to. He even had his stock tie pinned in place, complete overkill for a schooling show.

    How you be, V?

    I shot him a look through slitted eyes. I think you know how I am.

    Harry collapsed all six-plus feet of his skinny self next to me. Crabby and all out of whipped cream?

    That about summed it up. I sipped my coffee, rapidly going cold and stale, but it took a hair off the edge.

    A young man led a horse out to the field in front of us. The sleek dark bay wore saddle and bridle, and a lunge line was clipped right to the ring of the snaffle. Idiot. The grass was slick with half-frozen dew. I wouldn’t work a horse out here, especially not one vibrating like a thoroughbred being led to the starting gate. She probably was off the track by her looks and conformation. Sweat already darkened her shoulders and flank. She’d been getting ridden in the indoor warm-up ring, I’d bet, and not cooperating, so they’d brought her here to work out the kinks at the end of a lunge.

    With my attention riveted on the horse, I asked Harry, "Where’ve

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