Rob Berresford
Not All Roses Smell The Same
Kathy watched the colt. It poked its head out between the fence rails. “She’s going to get cold,” she whispered to herself. Opening the driver’s door, she scrambled out and ran through the rain. Reaching the fence, she undid the latch and opened the gate. Wrapping her arms around the colt’s neck, she guided it towards the truck.