Read Online Puss 'N Cahoots by Rita Mae Brown - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rita Mae Brown
Ads: Link
out.
“I hope He’s watching over Shelbyville,” Harry laconically noted as they stepped outside.
Fair looked west, the direction in which Harry was looking. “Dark.”
Joan, too, glanced westward. “Sure is. I expect when it hits it will rattle the fillings in your teeth.”
As they talked at the end of the barn, Manuel led out Zip, the horse whose stage name was Flight Instructor. The gelding was a little girthy; Manuel couldn’t tighten the girth all at once. He would walk a few paces, then stop and hike it up a notch. He handed Zip over to Larry, who held the gelding as Darla Finestein, a client, mounted up.
A red grooming rag flapped from Jorge’s jeans’ hip pocket as he slipped between the barns, heading toward the practice arena while the others trooped to the show ring.
“Let’s go.”
Tucker followed Jorge.
“Too many people. I’m repairing to the hospitality room,”
Pewter announced.
Cookie stuck to Tucker. Mrs. Murphy watched as Pewter disappeared into the barn entrance, then the tiger hurried after the dogs.
Jorge heard the organ play and the announcer begin his patter for this evening’s events. He ducked behind Barn Three. Moving faster, Jorge entered the parking lot, then hopped into the green and white horse van parked in the lot closest to the practice arena.
The animals dashed under the van.
Ward Findley’s voice could be heard. “Good work.”
“Gracias,”
Jorge replied, then lightly leapt out of the open side door of the van, ignoring the ramp. As he quickly walked away, Mrs. Murphy, first out from under the van, saw Jorge jam a white envelope into his hip pocket after pulling out the grooming rag. He slung that over his shoulder.
The two dogs came out as Ward casually walked down the ramp.
“Like walking a gangplank,”
Cookie said, her Jack Russell voice a trifle loud.
Ward, halfway down the ramp, heard Cookie. “What are you doing here? And you, forgot your name.” He noted Tucker, then laughed. “You two spying on me?”
Mrs. Murphy kept after Jorge. She turned to see Ward bending over, petting both the dogs. Since they knew their way around, she didn’t return but continued to stalk Jorge, who was kind to animals. She liked him. Whatever was in his hip pocket bulged a little. He walked to the south side of Barn Five, then sauntered up the aisle. He opened a stall door, walked inside, and began preparing a dark bay for the second class, show pleasure driving open, whistling as he worked.
By the time the dogs returned to Barn Five, both Pewter and Mrs. Murphy had been put back in their collars and were being carried to the Kalarama box. Neither cat looked thrilled.
The dogs followed Joan when she called them.
Once at the box, Cookie declared,
“Ward’s nice. He scratched our ears and told us to go home.”
“He may be nice, but he’s up to no good.”
Mrs. Murphy sat in Harry’s lap as the first horse, a pale chestnut, stepped into the ring. The middle-aged lady astride looked grim until Charly, her trainer, yelled, “Smile.”
Paul and Frances slipped into the box.
“Perfect timing.” Paul laughed as he held the chair for Frances.
Fair entered the box; he’d been sewing up a cut for a horse in Barn One. The trainer found Fair since he couldn’t get his vet there on time. The horse was bleeding profusely, even though the cut wasn’t serious. However, it was serious enough that the deep-liver chestnut, a gorgeous color, wouldn’t be competing this week.
“You’ve got blood all over you. Are you all right?” Frances opened her purse for a handkerchief, which she handed to Fair.
Frances’s purse contained a host of ameliorative pills, handkerchiefs, plus a small bottle of her perfume.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton. Eddie Falco’s gelding sliced a deep ‘V’ right in front of his hoof. He somehow managed this feat between the practice ring and the barn.” Fair half-smiled.
Paul folded his arms across his chest. “You never know, do
“I hope He’s watching over Shelbyville,” Harry laconically noted as they stepped outside.
Fair looked west, the direction in which Harry was looking. “Dark.”
Joan, too, glanced westward. “Sure is. I expect when it hits it will rattle the fillings in your teeth.”
As they talked at the end of the barn, Manuel led out Zip, the horse whose stage name was Flight Instructor. The gelding was a little girthy; Manuel couldn’t tighten the girth all at once. He would walk a few paces, then stop and hike it up a notch. He handed Zip over to Larry, who held the gelding as Darla Finestein, a client, mounted up.
A red grooming rag flapped from Jorge’s jeans’ hip pocket as he slipped between the barns, heading toward the practice arena while the others trooped to the show ring.
“Let’s go.”
Tucker followed Jorge.
“Too many people. I’m repairing to the hospitality room,”
Pewter announced.
Cookie stuck to Tucker. Mrs. Murphy watched as Pewter disappeared into the barn entrance, then the tiger hurried after the dogs.
Jorge heard the organ play and the announcer begin his patter for this evening’s events. He ducked behind Barn Three. Moving faster, Jorge entered the parking lot, then hopped into the green and white horse van parked in the lot closest to the practice arena.
The animals dashed under the van.
Ward Findley’s voice could be heard. “Good work.”
“Gracias,”
Jorge replied, then lightly leapt out of the open side door of the van, ignoring the ramp. As he quickly walked away, Mrs. Murphy, first out from under the van, saw Jorge jam a white envelope into his hip pocket after pulling out the grooming rag. He slung that over his shoulder.
The two dogs came out as Ward casually walked down the ramp.
“Like walking a gangplank,”
Cookie said, her Jack Russell voice a trifle loud.
Ward, halfway down the ramp, heard Cookie. “What are you doing here? And you, forgot your name.” He noted Tucker, then laughed. “You two spying on me?”
Mrs. Murphy kept after Jorge. She turned to see Ward bending over, petting both the dogs. Since they knew their way around, she didn’t return but continued to stalk Jorge, who was kind to animals. She liked him. Whatever was in his hip pocket bulged a little. He walked to the south side of Barn Five, then sauntered up the aisle. He opened a stall door, walked inside, and began preparing a dark bay for the second class, show pleasure driving open, whistling as he worked.
By the time the dogs returned to Barn Five, both Pewter and Mrs. Murphy had been put back in their collars and were being carried to the Kalarama box. Neither cat looked thrilled.
The dogs followed Joan when she called them.
Once at the box, Cookie declared,
“Ward’s nice. He scratched our ears and told us to go home.”
“He may be nice, but he’s up to no good.”
Mrs. Murphy sat in Harry’s lap as the first horse, a pale chestnut, stepped into the ring. The middle-aged lady astride looked grim until Charly, her trainer, yelled, “Smile.”
Paul and Frances slipped into the box.
“Perfect timing.” Paul laughed as he held the chair for Frances.
Fair entered the box; he’d been sewing up a cut for a horse in Barn One. The trainer found Fair since he couldn’t get his vet there on time. The horse was bleeding profusely, even though the cut wasn’t serious. However, it was serious enough that the deep-liver chestnut, a gorgeous color, wouldn’t be competing this week.
“You’ve got blood all over you. Are you all right?” Frances opened her purse for a handkerchief, which she handed to Fair.
Frances’s purse contained a host of ameliorative pills, handkerchiefs, plus a small bottle of her perfume.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton. Eddie Falco’s gelding sliced a deep ‘V’ right in front of his hoof. He somehow managed this feat between the practice ring and the barn.” Fair half-smiled.
Paul folded his arms across his chest. “You never know, do
Similar Books
