“Or two A.M. Or four. By the time Mrs. Coley woke Sam at six thirty the next morning, the mare and foal had slept and nursed their way through ten peaceful hours. For Sam, wearing a pink T-shirt and lightweight sweatpants to sleep on the cot turned out to be more restful than the soggy socks and jeans she’d worn the night before. Instead of waking to a shadow lurking above her as she had yesterday, Sam awoke to a whisper. “Buttermilk donuts.” Mrs. Coley was standing nearby holding a white saucer... and a blue mug. “What?” Sam sat up so quickly, the cot wiggled, and Mrs. Coley had to step back. She didn’t move so far away, though, that Sam couldn’t see the tender pastry circles with wisps of steam rising toward the barn rafters. “If you’re a ranch woman,” Sam said, yawning, “are you required to be a good cook?” “It helps,” Mrs. Coley said, seating herself on a hay bale. “What if you want to spend all your time working with horses and cattle and stuff like that instead?”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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