A Silver Christmas (Tipperary Carriage Company Mystery Book 4) Read online

  A Silver Christmas

  A Tipperary Carriage Company Mystery Book 4

  J. A. Whiting

  Nell McCarthy

  Copyright 2020 J. A. Whiting and Whitemark Publishing

  Cover copyright 2020 Susan Coils: www.coverkicks.com

  Formatting by Signifer Book Design

  Proofreading by Donna Rich: [email protected]

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, or incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to locales, actual events, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from J. A. Whiting.

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  For my family with love

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Thank you for reading!

  Books By J.A. Whiting

  Books By J.A. Whiting & Nell McCarthy

  Books By J.A. Whiting & Amanda Diamond

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  1

  December

  Galloway, Ohio

  "Got a surprise for you."

  Mae Monahan left off grooming Copper and peeked out of the stall door. Ross had just come back from his errands and was walking down the neatly swept concrete floor of Goodnight Farm's big twenty-stall barn.

  Ross Goodnight was the owner and manager of the place, a man in his fifties who remained tall, strong, and fit. He nearly always wore a Stetson hat in memory of his beloved Texas, even though he'd lived in central Ohio for many years now.

  Two beautiful black-and-white border collies, Mack and Mick, ran to meet him. They frisked along beside Ross and greeted him with the enthusiasm and exuberance that few dogs beside border collies could have.

  "You'd think you'd been gone for months instead of just two hours to pick up a few things from the feed store," said Mae, smiling. "I take it you could use some help unloading whatever you bought? Let me turn Copper loose and I'll be right there."

  Mae walked back inside the stall with the big Belgian. He looked gorgeous right now, with his red coat clean and his long flaxen mane and tail neatly combed out. But she knew it wouldn't last long if the rain held off and he was turned out in the field later on. "Oh, well, Copper. At least you were clean at one point today."

  She slipped off his halter and left the stall, sliding the door shut and hanging the halter on the door's brass hook.

  "Did you get more hay?" she called to Ross. "If you take the truck back to the hay barn, I'll help you move it with the dolly. It won't take long. I still have to look through the Christmas decorations and see what I've got for the carriages. The Holiday Fair starts in just…."

  Ross cut off her words. "It's not hay. It's something else. Come here and take a look."

  With that he turned and walked back toward the front of the barn where his big maroon pickup truck was parked, still hooked to one of Mae's two white stock trailers.

  Mae hurried after him. Ross never spoke unless he had something to say, and she had learned to listen to him when he did.

  "I did get a few more bags of crimped oats," he went on, "but I can put those away myself. This is something else."

  "Something else?" she repeated, trying to imagine what on earth he could be talking about.

  "I got a call from my buddy Ray Braun."

  "Ray, oh, yes, the man with the used tack store. The one who loves to go to any small auction, estate sale, or garage sale to see what kind of saddles, bridles, harness, and carts he can buy cheap, fix up, and sell."

  "That's the one." Ross kept walking and seemed to be watching his truck very carefully. "He had something today that he thought you might be able to use."

  "Well, he's fixed us up with some useful things before, like a saddle big enough for my draft horses. Oh, did he find another one? It wouldn't hurt to have another big saddle since I've got three very big horses. Or maybe it was something for Goldie? She might be a Haflinger pony, but she's pretty stout, and we still haven't found a saddle that fits her right."

  "It's not a saddle. Or any kind of tack."

  He kept walking. Mae's curiosity grew as they stepped out into the gravel parking lot between the barn and Ross's house.

  Why else would he take the trailer to the feed store, if not to haul hay? Anything else would fit in the bed of his truck. So why –

  Then she heard something from inside the trailer. It sounded just like a horse stomping around on the metal floor.

  Mae hurried over and peered through the side slats.

  Oh, my gosh . . . is that what I think it is?

  After studying the horse very carefully, she looked up at Ross again. "That sure looks like…."

  "It is. He's a Saddlebred."

  "I think he's tired of waiting," said Mae. "We'd better get him out and get a look at him."

  Ross opened the rear gate on the trailer, walked inside, and carefully backed the horse down to the ground.

  "He's so tall," marveled Mae. "I think he's as tall as Copper or Steel or Star, and they're all draft horses."

  But as the Saddlebred walked toward the barn, Mae saw that he was also terribly dirty and looking a little thin. He was very tender-footed when walking over the gravel. Stepping inside on the concrete floor of the barn didn't help much, either.

  "Well, he's a grey, at least, I think he is, under all that dried mud, and another grey is exactly what I could use for the carriage driving business," said Mae. "People love them for weddings and just about anything else."

  "He's grey," said Ross.

  Mae watched the horse as he walked into the barn, and then she frowned. "Is he sound? He seems very ouchy just trying to walk."

  "He's barefoot. I don't think he's used to that," answered Ross, stopping the horse in the middle of the aisle.

  "I can see the nail holes just above the ground line," said Mae. "His shoes weren't pulled all that long ago."

  "Three weeks, most likely," said Ross.

  "Hmm. Maybe somebody pulled his shoes intending to turn him out for the winter."

  "Or because they didn't want to waste the shoes. He was actually in the kill pen."

  Mae fell silent as her eyes went wide. "I see," she murmured. Taking a step closer, she stroked the tall grey on the neck. "He's awfully dirty, but his coat is actually short and slick. You wouldn't expect to see that in early December, not anywhere around here."

  "Another sign that he was in a barn until recently. And blanketed."

  "Exactly." The horse lowered his head a little as she ran her hands over his long mane. "I thought your friend Ray only dealt in used tack."

  "He usually does, but he saw this horse at the auction. They had a tack consignment, too … and he thought you might be interested."

  "Well, I'm glad he ca
lled you. And I sure appreciate you going out there and bringing this guy home. But I guess I'd better ask, did you buy him or did I buy him?"

  "I bought him. Thought you might like a Saddlebred for the driving business."

  "Well, yes, I surely would. I'd thought three horses and a pony would be enough, but none of them are Saddlebreds." And I'll bet you saw the same thing in this horse that I do. He didn't belong in a kill pen at an auction.

  "I'll keep him while you decide," said Ross. "You can try him for a few weeks. Then buy him if you want him, or send him elsewhere if you don't."

  Mae smiled, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by Ross's kindness both to her and to this unfortunate horse. "Thanks. I'd love to try him."

  It is almost Christmas, isn't it?

  Ross gave her a brief nod. "Looks to be about ten, by his teeth."

  Mae walked around the horse as Mack and Mick followed her, trying to be everywhere at once. She noticed that the tall grey seemed unconcerned with the dogs playing around his feet.

  "Ross, he's been a show horse. I'm sure of it."

  "How do you know that?"

  "Several things. You know I learned to ride and drive in Kentucky when I was a young teen. It was at a wonderful Saddlebred show barn out there, and I remember it all.

  "His tail is probably the biggest giveaway," she went on, carefully taking hold of the long muddy tail and gently holding it out. "It's been set."

  "Set? You mean broken?"

  "No, no. Tails are never 'broken.' That wouldn't work, anyway. No, the tendons are clipped underneath so that they grow back long. Without the tendons to hold it down flat, the tail tends to sit up high and give the horse a 'fountain tail.' You know, like when you turn them out on a cold morning and they flag their tails up and run around. Any horse will do that."

  "Can he still move that tail?"

  "Sure he can. You watch when it's fly season. It's just cosmetic. The tail is perfectly normal and usable otherwise. But the point is, if somebody goes to the trouble to have a horse's tail set, that horse is certainly intended for the show ring."

  "Doubt he's been shown in a while with feet like that."

  "And with all this dirt."

  Ross looked closely at the horse's side. "There's mud ground down into his coat, a short slick coat, to the skin. He didn't get this filthy overnight."

  "And look at this," said Mae, from the other side. "You can see that his bridle path, the mane right behind his ears, was clipped before. They always do that for a show horse. But it's grown out some now."

  "Not much, though. Maybe they just didn't bother clipping over the winter."

  "Maybe," she agreed. "But look right here. His ears were shaved on the inside, too. And his whiskers were trimmed. Ears, chin, nose, the underside of his head, all of it. I don't think anybody bothers with that unless the horse is going to be shown."

  "Probably not."

  Even as neglected as the horse clearly was, Mae was struck by how this tall Saddlebred could easily be the horse of her dreams. She had always loved the breed and hoped to find one that would be suitable for her carriage driving business.

  I think he's taller than Steel. This horse could pull one of the big Landau carriages with no trouble if it was on smooth ground. And oh, my, just think how he would look put to the fairy-tale coach for weddings and proms.

  Then Mae took a deep breath and made a real effort to stop her runaway daydreams. There was another question that had to be answered before she could consider using this horse.

  "Ross, he looks awfully darned nice to be disposed of at an auction and wind up in the kill pen. I have to ask … what's wrong with him?"

  2

  Ross took another long look at the horse. "Hard to say what might be wrong with him. If a horse ends up going for slaughter, there's usually a reason. But you never know."

  "I mean," said Mae, "outside of being tender-footed, a little thin, and a lot dirty, I'd swear this was a show horse who was used to being trailered and handled. How on earth did he end up where he was?"

  "Well, you never know what can happen with people. Maybe his owners went broke. Or maybe this horse won't work any longer."

  "Won't work? But he seems sound enough, outside of being sore because he's barefooted."

  "It's not always soundness. Sometimes a smart horse figures out that if he starts rearing up with a rider, or bolting for the barn, nobody will ride him again. Most people are too buffaloed by that to deal with it themselves. But they're not willing to pay a trainer the money it would take to fix it, either."

  "And a horse like that doesn't realize that nobody's willing to feed him if he refuses to earn his keep."

  "That's right. He outsmarts himself. Ends up as bucking stock in a rodeo or in the kill pen at a backwoods country auction."

  "So tell me. Did he load all right this morning?"

  "No problem at all. As soon as he saw the hay net, he stomped right in and rode fine the whole way."

  "Okay, then. I think I would like to try him. I'll give him a couple of days to settle in and see how he is for grooming and things like that."

  "Sure. Then ground-driving. Then the training cart. Maybe ride him. Just make sure I'm around when you try him."

  "Oh, I will, just in case there's any trouble. But you know, Ross, I have a feeling he'll do just fine. If he works out, I'd have my five horses that I planned on. And they would be, Steel, Copper, Star, Goldie, and Silver."

  "Silver?"

  "Sure. We know he's a grey under all that dirt. It's perfect."

  Ross ran his hand along the horse’s neck. "Probably shouldn't count your horses until, well, until you know you can drive them."

  Mae laughed. "I know you're right, as always. One thing at a time. First we'll get him warm and clean him up. Then we can go from there."

  And I really, really hope I'm right about this horse, and he doesn't break my heart just in time for Christmas.

  Just then, Mae noticed that the tall, thin horse was shivering in the December wind blowing through the barn aisle.

  "Might have gotten cold in the trailer," said Ross. "Need to get him in a stall and start rubbing him with burlap bags."

  "I will," said Mae. "Nothing better than empty feed sacks when you need to get a horse warmed up."

  "You start doing that," said Ross. He handed the horse's lead rope to Mae and then walked to the tack room halfway down the barn aisle to get a burlap sack. "I'll get the stall ready. We'll move Steel down and put your new one between him and Copper."

  "Sounds good," said Mae, and took the sack from him. "Steel and Copper normally get along with most anybody. They'll show the new guy the ropes. But for now, as soon as he's halfway clean, I'll get a blanket on him."

  Mae started rubbing away on the newly named Silver's mud-caked coat with the burlap bag. That had the effect of both breaking up the dried clods of dirt that were stuck to him and helping to get the blood flowing to warm him up.

  Ross moved Steel to the next stall down and then began preparing his old stall for the new occupant.

  Mae glanced at Ross as he worked. In the past year he had become barn manager, assistant trainer, part-time carriage driver, and good friend.

  “And thank you so much for bringing him here," she called, scrubbing away at the dirty grey coat. "If nothing else, I'd like to think that maybe we saved a nice horse from, well, from getting on that truck for the last time."

  "No problem. You get him cleaned up. When this is done, I'll bring up some more hay bales for tonight."

  "He needs a bath, but it's too cold right now. I'll have to get him scrubbed up the old-fashioned way . . . and then we'll see what we've got."

  Once the stall was ready and thickly bedded with fluffed-up straw, Mae led Silver inside and turned him around. Ross came in and held a bucket of water for him, which he drank down very quickly. Then Ross dropped a couple of flakes of hay in front of him which the horse greedily tore into.

  Mae continued to work on him wi
th the burlap bag and a metal-toothed currycomb. "I really do think he's about the filthiest equine I've ever seen," she murmured. "Though he is putting up with this pretty well."

  The horse barely seemed to notice the grooming, even when she had to use the metal currycomb with its rows of hacksaw-like teeth to break through the caked mud.

  "He's hungry," said Ross. "And it’s not the way horses are just always looking to eat. I don't think he's had a decent feed in a while."

  Mae nodded. "I hate to think about it," she said quietly, "but I guess there's not much reason to feed one when it's not going to be around much longer." She took a deep breath and tried to smile. "But we've got plenty of hay out here at Goodnight Farm. And crimped oats, too."

  "Wait on the grain until tomorrow," said Ross. "Just water and hay to start with."

  "Yes, that's probably smart," said Mae. "I'll probably still be trying to get him clean by the time he's ready for a few oats."

  Ross went out of the barn to take care of some more chores while Mae did all she could with the metal currycomb, and then started scrubbing with the soft-toothed plastic curry to bring the dirt up to the surface.

  The tall Saddlebred just stood calmly through it all, very much enjoying his hay.

  By the time Ross returned, Mae had picked up a stiff brush and was getting the last of the dirt off of his coat.

  “Better," said Ross, looking closely. "I thought he was a grey. Guess not."

  "Not a grey? Sure he is. Look at him. I mean … hey. You're right."

  The horse was grey, but he was more than that.