Lessa’s expression didn’t alter much at the bartender’s words. It was a bit disappointing that he didn’t know any horse-interested folks, but then again, how could he? She was new herself, and didn’t know a damned soul in this town. Everyone had to start somewhere, and Lessa figured she might as well start from the ground up. Build a firm, stable foundation, and it wouldn’t all come crumbling down around her in ten years.
The bottle of corona was brought to her lips again, but she kept her gaze on the man across from her. When the bottle was placed in the ring of moisture that had accumulated on the bar, she fished into her jean pocket, and pulled out a little rectangular square. “Would you mind giving folks my number if there seems to be an interest?” She placed the card on the counter between them, the font directed toward James. It was a plain white card, with non-descript font. “Riot Hill Ranch” embossed across the top. Below that, Lessa Murphey – owner & operator. And below that: “horse training, lessons, boarding, cabins for lodging, horse sales” The last line had a phone number, presumably Lessa’s cell.
“I’d be very grateful if you did…” There wasn’t the least bit of plea, or desperation in her voice, just simple gratitude if he agreed to her request.
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