Chapter 8

“Ah, yes.” Gabriel unrolled his scroll and looked down it. “Mr. Willowind. He’s a Quarter Horse gelding, a tall sorrel with two white socks and a star. He shouldn’t give you any trouble.”

“Okay.” Brett scratched his underarm.

“The gelding,” Gabriel went on, “was struck by lightning. He will be unconscious.”

That meant he’d be transported through the pearly Gates in one of the huge floating crystal cots.

“Okay, thanks. I’ll get things ready for his arrival.” Brett bowed his head and the Archangel disappeared in his usual cloud of golden light and slight odor of roses.

* * * *

Brett was observing Daisy Mae, a chestnut mare who was heavy with foal. Terry, the senior barn manager, had taken Brett under his wing and had helped him settle in. “This’ll be you’re fifth foaling, I’ll be thinking,” Terry said in his soft Irish brogue the horses always seemed to respond favorably to.