Morgan's Rescue Read Online Free PDF

something—anything—to quell her growing anxiety, she had placed a jump saddle on Honey, a lovely, seventeen-hand-high chestnut, her favorite mount at Rancho Verde. But as she and Honey circled the largest of the horse farm's pipe-enclosed training arenas, Pilar's mind refused to stray from the coming meeting.
          The day was warm and slightly damp, with the tang of salt in the air. The Pacific Ocean was less than a mile away, and humidity tended to settle in the lower elevations. Rancho Verde was a dream come true—the largest horse farm in Peru , immaculately kept by the Antonio and Cecelia Navarro family—and Pilar longed to find her usual peace of mind through work. But it was three o'clock, and she couldn't escape the knowledge that Culver would even now be landing at the Jorge Chavez Airport in Lima . Hector would be meeting and briefing him, then, according to her orders, she was to meet him at seven tonight at Hotel of the Andes, one of Lima 's finest four-star palaces.
          Honey snorted as she cantered slowly, guided by Pilar's sensitive, gloved hands. Riding brought Pilar a sense of freedom she otherwise never seemed able to achieve—except in visits to her grandparents' village. A black, velvet-covered hard hat protected her head in case of falls as she put Honey through her paces over the two-to-three-foot jumps. But Honey was so steady that Pilar never worried about that possibility. The arena was quiet, for the afternoon and early evening here were considered siesta time, and no one worked. Only Pilar couldn't rest. She hadn't slept well last night, either, her dreams entwining with haunting nightmares from her shameful past.
          The sky was cerulean blue, with a few white wisps that reminded Pilar of Honey's flowing flaxen mane as they cantered about the enclosure. Tall trees, grown scraggly from the frequent winds off the ocean, hugged the arena, and a cooling breeze chased away the worst of the early summer heat. The hacienda itself, constructed of pale yellow stucco with a red, Spanish-tile roof, was situated below the training grounds in a small vale. From their higher position, the various arenas for the jumpers overlooked the surrounding, tree-covered hills and Pilar could see the sparkling deep blue of the Pacific in the distance.
          She guided Honey with her legs and a slight change of weight on the saddle as she took three jumps in a row. Each time the mare gathered and collected the energy in her hind legs, Pilar felt as if she were on a powerful, living spring. The big, easygoing mare trusted Pilar implicity, sailing effortlessly over another two-and-a-half-foot jump.
          A combination jump, consisting of a pool of water and a four-foot barrier, was next, requiring Honey to stretch to her maximum length as well as jump "big." Just as Pilar steadied the mare for the exercise, the back of her neck prickled. A red flag. Why was she sensing danger? She had little time to assess the warning as she lifted upward, knees jammed tightly into the rolls of the saddle, riding easily on the horse's withers as they approached the combined jump. Honey's front legs rose and she soared like the Andean condors that floated over her grandparents' village. For a moment the mare seemed to have wings like Pegasus. As Honey landed solidly on the other side of the jump, Pilar gently pulled on the reins.
          Squinting against the western sun, she looked toward the buildings that housed the tack and stables. Her hands were wet, the gloves slightly slippery on the double reins as the mare came to a halt. The animal's ears went instantly forward—toward the same area Pilar was studying. The prickling sensation at the back of her neck was a sure sign of trouble, Pilar knew. That internal warning system—which her mother had attributed to her spirit guardian, a jaguar—had saved her life a number of times when she'd worked undercover. So now she strained to see past the