Sherry Anders was telling her roommate about one of her horses that got injured. They were sitting at El Toreador, a Mexican restaurant in Redmond. Sherry, attractive, petite, 5 feet 10 inches tall, dark hair, had grown up with horses and was better with them than most stable boys. But Sherry hated needles and was afraid to give her quarter horse named Flame an injection.
Suddenly this friendly man with dark hair and dark eyes stood at her table and beamed at her with a 1000-watt smile. He introduced himself as Martin Lewis and said he bred thoroughbreds. He pulled out a photo of a beautiful mare from his wallet, the horse wearing a festive winner’s wreath of flowers around its neck. The man offered to administer the injection and his smile widened. Sherry couldn’t help it: she smiled back.
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