“Moroccan chicken,” his wife replied. “I won’t be late,” he said, before watching as the Mercedes commenced the journey back to town. �...Well played Cliff,” the club secretary noted, as he passed by Cliff’s truck to head for the Pavilion. 'Old Errol loves his beer,' Cliff thought to himself, as he walked around the back of his polo truck. His nineteen year old English polo groom Skye was just letting Llorento, the last of the horses free. With all the tack back in the truck, and the horses. It was good and Morgan was, as always, a great companion. We enjoyed our time together. She hadn’t heard from nor seen her mother.She said, “Evan, let’s meet at the hotel. I want you to take me by the house if I still haven’t heard from her. If she has company, I don’t want to be caught up in that situation.”I nodded. After we finished eating, we returned to our jobs. When I was ready to leave, I called Morgan and told her that I was leaving for the hotel. She would meet me there.She pulled in. More

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