One Hoof In The Grave [Carriage Driving 02] Read Online Free PDF Page B

shows in the United States for the next year, listing the names, telephone numbers, emails and mailing addresses of the committee heads for each. The second sheet was a letter set up to mail merge with the list on the first page.
    My heart began to race after the first sentence. By the second paragraph I felt as though I had a fever, and by the end I was so stunned I simply sat down and gabbled.
    “Give me that,” Peggy said and took it from me. “That bastard,” Peggy whispered. “This is libelous.”
    “He’s telling everyone that you’re incompetent, that you’re responsible for the runaway last year at The Meadows that damaged all those trucks and trailers,” Sarah-Beth said. “I was there. I know you risked your life to save that stallion.”
    “I thought a few of my show contracts for next year were slow in arriving,” I said. “A couple of people haven’t returned my calls.” I closed my eyes. The accident had been a bad one, but I had in no way been responsible, as the show committee judged at the time.
    “It gets worse,” Sarah-Beth said. “He keeps making these snide little remarks to people about your father’s death. How convenient it was for you to inherit the farm free and clear . . .”
    “How the hell does he know that ?”
    “If it has to do with real estate in the state of Georgia, Giles knows all about it. Particularly around Bigelow and Mossy Creek. He’s big pals with the governor and his cronies.”
    Mossy Creek, Georgia, where the training farm I’d inherited when my father, Hiram Lackland, was murdered, has as its motto, “The town that ain’t goin’ nowhere and don’t want to.” A view not shared by Governor Bigelow, nephew and archenemy of Mossy Creek’s mayor, Ida. His country place is in Bigelow, most of his family lives in Bigelow, and he is definitely the big dog in the neighborhood.
    Except in Mossy Creek, where he is either ignored or treated like a bad-tempered Yorkie.
    Since moving to Mossy Creek to take over my father’s farm, I have come to share their view of the world. I suspect you have to be third or fourth generation Creekite to be considered a native, but they certainly try to make me feel at home.
    I’ve never felt at home anywhere before. My mother and I dragged around with my father from training job to training job until they were divorced. By the time she remarried, I was incapable of putting down real roots. Then we moved around every time my husband—now my ex—Vic got a new job, but that’s the paradigm I grew up with. Whither thou goest, etc. It had been tough on my daughter Allie, but she learned to make friends fast, a trait that has stood her in good stead as a starting broker in New York
    Even though I had no mortgage to pay on the property, horses and land cost a lot to maintain, plus I was building a log house on the farm so I didn’t have to live in Peggy’s basement apartment in Mossy Creek.
    Training carriage horses and managing horse shows on the weekends kept me solvent. Giles Raleigh was damming up my income stream.
    “Has he sent any of those letters out yet?” I asked.
    “I’m not sure. He doesn’t use email, but he may have gotten one of his secretaries to email these people. Plus he talks to people when he shows, and he knows everybody.”
    “Please try to find out if you can without bringing down his wrath on your head,” Peggy said. “May I keep this?”
    Sarah-Beth nodded. “I’ll run off another copy before he comes back from the marathon. He won’t know I gave that one to you.”
    Peggy nodded and stood up. “Come on, Merry. We need to get out of here before the Cyclops catches us in his cave.” She patted Sarah-Beth’s hand. “None of my business why you can’t leave him, but if you change your mind and need a place to stay, I have an extra bedroom. Don’t put it off too long. Men like that escalate to physical violence fast.”
    I thought Sarah-Beth was going to burst into tears all over again, but