Read Online Hotspur by Rita Mae Brown - Free Book Online Page A

him down.” She drank her Coke in five big gulps.
    Comet crouched down, slinking through the hay, and nearly bumped right into Aunt Netty.
    He giggled.
    â€œHush.”
Aunt Netty glared at him.
    Comet did stop giggling, but he still had a silly grin on his face. Reds thought they were superior to grays. Comet, a gray, couldn’t have cared less but he did respect Aunt Netty. Her speed and tricks were legendary among foxes.
    â€œHe’s been calling on all of us, even people who were children back in ’81,” Sister said.
    â€œI don’t know any more today than I did that September. I never saw Guy again after that Saturday. Never.” She breathed in deeply. “Why can’t the past stay in the past?”
    â€œNever does,” Sister simply said.
    â€œYou lost a son and a husband. We’re both all alone.” Alice blurted this out. “Nobody cares what happens to old women.”
    â€œNow, now, Mrs. Ramy, people do care. They do.” Walter was gallant. “And raking up the past, well, it sets teeth on edge. Don’t worry about what people say. They love to talk, don’t they? And the sillier they are, the more they gossip. And furthermore, Mrs. Ramy, you don’t look your age. Don’t call yourself an old lady.” His voice conveyed sympathy and warmth.
    â€œDamn right!” Alice stood up, brushed off the back of her khaki Bermuda shorts. “You know, Jane Arnold, I could never for the life of me imagine why you’d want to be master of the hunt. Too much work and too much danger. But now I know why you do it.” She walked away a step. “You’re surrounded by such handsome men.” With that she climbed over the fence and drove off.
    Shaker ran his hand through his auburn curls. “Her elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top.”
    â€œI’d better call on her in a day or two,” Sister said.
    â€œWhy?” Doug asked, feeling that Sister had been kind enough.
    â€œBecause she’s alone.”
    â€œShe brought it on herself, poor thing,” Walter quietly said, and without rancor.
    â€œWe all pretty much make the bed we lie in. Or is it lay in?” Sister held up her hand. “Isn’t grammar a bitch? Anyway, she is a neighbor. This is awful for her, too. And who knows, maybe I’ll get us the right to pass through her farm.”
    â€œSpoken like a true master,” Walter said, laughing as he headed back to the coop.
    The two coops faced each other from opposite sides of the dirt farm road. During a hunt it was great fun to jump one, canter across the road, and sail over the other. However, some horses would jump out of the hayfield, their hooves would touch the dirt road, and they’d suck back. If the rider didn’t squeeze hard with his or her legs, the horse might refuse the next coop, which meant horses behind would stack up with dolorous results.
    Some would fuss because they were ready to jump and the nervous humans messed up their rhythm. Others would think to themselves that this must be quite a scary situation if Old Paint up front had chickened out.
    Sister, who also being field master led the field, could never resist slowing a bit to look over her shoulder to see who made it and who didn’t. The results would provoke a stream of laughter back in the tack room or in the kennel as she, Shaker, and Doug finished up the chores of the day. Not that the master herself hadn’t supplied laughter and comment over the years. That’s part of the appeal of foxhunting. Sooner or later, you’ll make a spectacle of yourself.
    As the humans returned to their task, Aunt Netty and Comet crept over to the cooler. Netty used her nose to pop the lid right up. Both foxes peered into the ice-filled container.
    â€œNo brownies,”
Aunt Netty mourned.
    â€œPack of Nabs.”
Comet spied the little pack of orange crackers beloved by Southerners and loathed by everyone