Here's the synopsis from Goodreads:
As one woman's story of overcoming unfolds, so do the pages of the Underground Railroad. North Carolina's Lumbee Indian heritage is explored and finally examined when a written document is handed to the rightful heir. But not before Exilee Sheffield learns through real life experiences that fate sometimes rides a hot horse.If you'd like to check out another review:
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About the Author:Exilee wipes away the hot tear that crept out of her angry eye. Sniffs up snot and strains to stay between the lines. Her face twists as she guns Tiponi’s engine and rage rolls off her tongue out the rolled down windows, “I’m gonna explode all over the next fool’s face that messes with me. I just know it.”
Alone, she pants open mouthed against the whipping wind. “I’m sick of being nice. Sick of it.” Long black loosened locks writhe and whip as her eyebrows dig down and nostrils spread. Her palm raises up to slap the steel door’s beveled edge and the slap stings. “I rose above those nasty boys for years and still got fired. Where was your freaking Holy Spirit today, Miss Ginger? Out planting tender things for rough times? Out digging some idiot out of a ditch? Oh, you’d be something to see.”
From her website: https://sites.google.com/site/fictiononfact/home
Now the fun stuff!!I remember ponies calling me over to feed them handfuls of grass from the time I was four. Growing up, ponies and horses dumped me on manure piles then ran to their barns. I’ve tackled their heads to get bits in, only to be scraped off. A pony picked me up once between my shoulder blades in its defiance of being led from the pasture. Its friends the cows chased me. Most of the time I ended up having a great ride getting my teeth jarred loose.A product of the late sixties, my childhood gave me the freedom to ride a bicycle to school. I tied string to the handlebars as reins and named it Lightening. It was my first horse. I rode every mutt pony, horse no one else would, any neglected nag in the back field and made friends with any girl who had two.When I was in my late twenties, after some college, including Language Arts, then the USAF, marriage and babies, I managed to conquer my dream and became a horse owner.One of them died two years ago. Sugarbabe was a Tennessee Walking Horse. She won first place in confirmation in North Carolina. She won my heart the first time I yelled, “Do you want a bath?” And she answered. Sugarbabe blew, tossed her long neck and ran to the barn. Her sister, Class is still with me. She is twenty. I am forty-nine. Both of us, at heart are only thirteen when we are out on the trail.
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