For Sale Or Swap by Alyssa Brugman Read Free Book Online

to
lip, pausing to pass his fingers gently over her eyes.
Then he stroked her down the neck. He stopped and
ran his hand up, against the grain. He looked at
Shelby with a raised eyebrow, and then turned on his
heel to haul his tools out of the ute's tray.
    'She couldn't be older?' Shelby asked.
    'Well, it's not an exact science, but I don't think so.'
    One by one, Clint lifted Brat's hooves, tucking
them between his knees, and filed them down with his
long rasp.
    'She's got nice little feet. Not too flat, not too
hollow. They're a bit long now but they've been well
looked after not so long ago,' he commented. He
tapped at the side of them with his rasp.
    'So, who's your friend?' he asked, giving her
a wink.
    'I beg your pardon?'
    'You're looking after this horse for a friend. Who's
the friend?'
    'Just this guy,' she answered.
    'A boyfriend?'
    'No!' Shelby blushed.
    'You keep away from those bad boys, Shel, they're
nothing but trouble.'
    'What are you talking about?' she asked.
    'Do you take me for a goose, Shelly Shoes?' he
asked. 'I see five, maybe ten horses every day of the year.
This is a grey horse. Grey, like clouds and Grandpa's
hair. And there's only one reason that you dye a grey
horse brown.'
    Shelby's heart started to race. 'What do you
mean?'
    Clint cupped his hand over his mouth and whispered.
'Stolen!'
    Shelby's mouth dropped open. 'Really? You think
she's been dyed? How?'
    Clint shrugged. 'Henna would do it – maybe
Condy's crystals. These days you could pretty much
use those hair dyes you get at the supermarket. You'd
need a lot though. The face is the trickiest part. You
can see he hasn't been able to do the eyelashes. The
rest was probably done with a bit of boot polish. How
did it come off?' He rubbed his fingers together. 'Was
it grimy and slimy in your hands?'
    Shelby nodded.
    'That'd be my bet then,' Clint said. He picked up
his rasp and dropped it into his toolbox. 'I never had
you picked for a rustler, Shelly Shoes.'
    'I didn't! I wasn't!' she protested.
    'You're secret's safe with me,' he said, depositing
the toolbox into the back of the ute.
    'Stolen,' said Shelby, bewildered. 'Does it happen
often?'
    'Often enough,' replied Clint. 'Why do you think
people still brand their horses?'
    After Clint had gone Shelby had to sit down and
think. She ran back over what the man had said. One
phrase stuck with her. I've been calling her Brat. It was a funny way to say it – as though he'd only
had her for a short time and had to make up a name
to call her. Why hadn't she wondered about it at
the time?
    Then there was the fact that Miss Anita had never
heard of Maxshine. She'd been judging, training and
brokering in ponies for years. It must be another
made-up name.
    It made sense. Nobody would give up a horse like
Brat for Blue. She loved him, but he was next to
worthless in comparison. But what did that mean?
Shelby ran through the scenarios.
    Horse theft was definitely a criminal matter. She
could call the police. Brat must have been reported
missing. They would be able to find Brat's real owner
and give her back.
    What about Blue? The man had no incentive to
bring him back now. Would this make him stolen
too? How would the police track down the man who
took him away? They didn't seem very confident
when she had talked to them before. If he was a thief,
he might be actually trying to hide. What if they
couldn't find him? Would Shelby be left with no horse
at all?
    And where was Blue? He might be a brown horse
too, by now.
    She could see, running like a movie through her
mind, Blue's face looking out at her anxiously as the
truck door slammed shut. It sent a shiver of butterflies
through her stomach.
    She had visions of him tied up tight in some dingy
shed, or squashed in a round yard with twenty or
thirty other ponies – dirty, thirsty and distressed. It
made her sick with worry.
    When she got home, Shelby tried the man's telephone
number one more time. It was still disconnected.
She looked at the