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leaves?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œShe says, ‘Crozet’s so ugly even Lot’s wife wouldn’t have looked back.’ ”

9

    . . . R unning through the barn as though chased by the avenging Furies themselves.” Tavener Heyward slapped his thighs, laughing until the tears rolled down his cheeks.
    Fair Haristeen laughed with him. “Paul will never live that down.”
    â€œI asked him what possessed him to do such a thing, and he said when he heard Big Mim coming toward the barn he got so flustered, because she has No Smoking signs posted about every two feet, that he stuck his cigarette in his back pocket. Never thought about putting it out. That’s one derriere that will sit lightly in the saddle for the next week,” Tavener, his hazel eyes merry, said.
    Paul de Silva, Big Mim’s new trainer, was a young, wiry, small-sized man with dreamy eyes and curly black hair. He spoke with a light Spanish accent, which added to his allure. He worked with Big Mim’s hunters, those for the show ring and those for actual hunting, often the same horses. Big Mim believed in bringing along horses the old way: foxhunting them first, then introducing them to the show ring or steeplechasing. Paul appreciated the wisdom of this approach. He had a terrible crush on Tazio Chappars, an architect. He was trying to find the right approach to her, since he feared she wouldn’t look at a horseman twice. Horsemen’s prospects aren’t as shining as those of architects, although miracles do happen.
    The two vets met in front of the post office and, the morning being especially lush and fragrant, they stood outside and chatted for a while. At nine-thirty they’d both been up for five hours.
    â€œSaw a lovely little fellow over at Albemarle Stud this morning,” Fair reported. “Another one of Fred Astaire’s babies out of an old Cool Virginian mare. As correct as they come.”
    Cool Virginian was a stallion, now deceased, who had enjoyed a solid career as a stud.
    â€œWho bred him?”
    â€œDr. Mary O’Brien. I’m going to see if she’ll sell him to me. I’d like to buy him for Harry. You know how good Harry is with a young horse. Five years from now he will be the best-looking horse in the hunt field. Just a balanced little guy.”
    â€œAh, love.” Tavener winked, for he meant both the love of a woman and the love of a horse.
    â€œMakes the world go ’round.” Fair, who at six feet five towered over Tavener, wrapped his arm around the older vet’s shoulder. “We wouldn’t be here without it.”
    â€œWell, my lad, you wouldn’t have a business without it.” Tavener laughed. “Neither would I, neither would I. But I tell you, equine matings are better planned than human ones.”
    â€œFrightening, isn’t it?” Fair dropped his arm to open the door to the post office.
    â€œHello, gentlemen.” Miranda leaned over the wide counter.
    Harry, who was at the back table, put down the magazines she was collecting. “Two good-for-nothing, good-looking men. I don’t know, Miranda. I think we’d better call Rick Shaw and ask for protection.”
    â€œHeartless. Harry, you always were heartless.” Tavener shook his head. “And what have you been up to this fine morning?”
    â€œSorting your bills.”
    He winced. “And have you noticed they always come faster than the money? It’s one of those irrefutable laws of finance, just as Newton’s laws are of physics. Ah, yes, what comes up must come down. The financial version of Newton’s Law is, what comes in must go out.”
    â€œIf we secede from the Union again and fight a limited war, we’ll get war reparations and all be rich.” Fair’s deep voice filled the room.
    Tucker had already barreled through the animal door in the divider between the public area and the work area. Tucker loved