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Updated: Jan 19

Taylor Sheridan, the writer, director and executive producer of the series Yellowstone, sent his own assistant, Petrolia, to meet us upon our arrival.

She was a slight woman of no more than twenty-five. After a brief tour around the ranch, she pointed to the barn where I would find Jerry.

“We are nearly three weeks behind schedule because the horse is still refusing to act,” she said.

“Detective Flea is a master problem solver,” offered Raffi.

Petrolia gave me a sideways glance, “I can see there is a wonderful brain behind those dark, chocolate brown eyes.”

I flushed crimson from my head to my tail, but fortunately it was camouflaged by fur.

Raffi craned his neck in the direction of several trailers in a field to the north. “Is that where the actors are?” he asked pointing.

Petrolia nodded, “Yes. Unless they are on the set.”

“Which trailer is Beth Dutton…I mean...Kelly Reilly in?” Raffi asked with his eyeballs searching wildly.

To gain his attention, I moved closer and set my hoof down firmly onto his size twelve leather shoe. “Don’t get starstruck. Be a professional, Raffi,” I brayed.

Petrolia, although not able to comprehend my language, was savvy enough to catch my drift. “I see why they call you a world-class detective,” she said patting my back.

The touch of her soft hand acted as a tranquilizer. I froze. I forgot why I was there.

Raffi’s annoying laugh roused me. “Well, if this isn’t a case of the pot calling the kettle black,” he roared. Then as Petrolia turned away to answer her cell phone, he whispered, “Don’t go falling in love on the first day, Detective.”

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