Clouds and Rain

Copyright

    Published by
    Dreamspinner Press
    4760 Preston Road
    Suite 244-149
    Frisco, TX 75034
    http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author‟s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

    Clouds and Rain
    Copyright © 2011 by Zahra Owens

    Cover Art by Anne Cain [email protected] Cover Design by Mara McKennen

    All rights reserved. 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. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 4760 Preston Road, Suite 244-149, Frisco, TX 75034
    http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

    ISBN: 978-1-61581-832-7

    Printed in the United States of America
    First Edition
    February, 2011

    eBook edition available
    eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-833-4

    Dedication

    To Carol for helping me out with an inspirational location for this story and to the rest of my “reading group” (of which Carol is a very active member) for helping me figure out everything else.

    Clouds and Rain

    Chapter 1

    HE NEEDED the job, it was as simple as that.
    He‟d worked in supermarkets and even waited tables, which he wasn‟t very good at, but this job sounded like it was made for him.

    WANTED: ranch hand, able to handle young, untrained horses, not afraid of mucking out stables and mending fences

    He‟d grown up around horses, lived on a stud farm all his life, so he could do this with his eyes closed. Room and board wasn‟t much, of course, but it did say that there would be a nice bonus after the horses were sold, and that was six weeks from now at the local auction, according to the lone clerk and carrier of the post office. He didn‟t have anywhere to go, so six weeks of work and staying in one place sounded like something he could handle. He wasn‟t a big fan of cold Idaho winters, but he figured in six weeks time, he could make his way to the coast and better weather before the snow arrived.
    The postman dropped him off at the main gate to the Blackwater Ranch at the start of his post run, and Flynn hauled his duffel bag over his shoulder before walking up the dusty road toward the main house. It looked deserted, although there was a dirty, dark-green pickup truck parked under an apple tree; still, when he knocked on the door of the ranch house, nobody answered. Determined to find the owner and because he didn‟t want to walk all the way back to town, Flynn sauntered toward the barn, passing a few unhaltered horses in a small corral. He saw a few more in a higher paddock as well, but other than that, it was eerily quiet.

    1

    Zahra Owens

    The double doors to the barn were open, so he walked inside and was greeted by a large brown head sticking out of its enclosure. Flynn held out his hand and let the horse sniff it, then stroked the white patch between the animal‟s eyes.
    “Got a boss around here, beautiful?” he asked the horse, then smiled when the animal obviously didn‟t answer. Nobody else did either, so Flynn walked on toward the end of the barn, peeking into the stalls he passed but not finding anyone there either.
    “Guess he‟s working somewhere else,” he told himself until a sudden voice from behind made him startle.
    “Can I help you?”
    Flynn turned around and saw a sandy-haired man in jeans and a plaid shirt standing near one of the stable doors he‟d passed earlier.
    There was a black sheepdog with a white muzzle sitting next to him.
    “Yes, ehm, I‟m here about the job?”
    “You must be pretty desperate if you‟re willing to take something that pays less than minimum wage. What‟s the deal? Did you do time or something?” the man asked Flynn rather gruffly.
    Flynn shook his head. “I grew up on a horse ranch, so this is better than stacking boxes at the supermarket.”
    “What ranch?” the man continued in the same unaffected voice he‟d used earlier.
    “Back east,” Flynn answered, purposely staying vague. “Canada,” he eventually admitted. “We moved there from England just after I was born, since we could make more money breeding horses there than in England.”
    “So why aren‟t you