Mirage

Mirage nuzzled Ruth's hand and she realized she had stopped rubbing the mare's head. She reached up to scratch the lower part of the mare's neck and Mirage stretched her neck out, her bottom lip trembling in appreciation. "Am I crazy to be out here talking to horses who can't say anything back to me? I suppose that's why it's nice. I don't have to be quick on my feet or worry about what I say or how I say it. So I'm free to tell you that Emmett," Ruth leaned closer to the mare as she dropped her voice down to a whisper as if someone might be able to accidentally overhear, "is one nice hunk of meat."

The mare let out a snort of air from her nostrils and shook her head slightly. "Is too!" Ruth said.

~Grace Marshall

From my book coming out this June, No Pizza Delivery 

From "No Pizza Delivery?"

Roy snorted as the saddle fell and he shied away from it a few steps. She heard her grandfather laughing from behind her. “I thought that Clydesdales were supposed to be calmer and Quarter Horses more flighty,” Ruth complained.

“Mirage is over 22 years-old and trained to compete. Ol’ Roy just turned 4 this year.”

“Then why do you keep calling him ol’ Roy?”

“Because he will be old, some day, and young Roy sounds derogatory. I wouldn’t be derogatory toward a creature that large but if you want to, you have at it.” Ruth wondered how she’d never before realized her grandfather was a tad loopy.

~Grace Marshall

From my story coming out this June, No Pizza Delivery