Рита Браун - Outfoxed

A flintlock with a powder horn hung over the fireplace. A cow horn, a true Virginia hunting horn, hung on a peg next to a nineteenth-century hand-colored hunting print. A white buffalo-plaid blanket was folded over the back of the leather sofa.

Spare, clean, yet inviting, Doug had a way of pulling things together that Sister Jane envied. She’d had to pay Colfax-Fowler to decorate her house back in the sixties and she’d updated it about every seven years since then. Sister never pretended to be aesthetically attuned but she had sense enough to follow those who were. Raymond evinced more interest in these things than she did.

Doug had absorbed a lot from Raymond not only in the way he arranged his cottage but in how he dressed. With an uncanny sense of color, he could pick the exact right tie, the correct fold of pocket handkerchief, the right break of the trousers over the shoe.

When Ray died Sister gave Douglas his clothing, generously paying to have everything altered for Doug, who was Ray’s height but thinner. Ray’s clothes were so classic that they looked as good today as the day he’d bought them. As Shaker was a short man, none of Ray’s clothes would fit him so she gave the huntsman Ray’s beautiful gold watch and his saddle.

“Coffee?”

“No. Too late for me.”

“Where’s Raleigh?”

“Asleep in the hall. He didn’t hear me go out. I won’t take up much of your time. You work all day. You don’t need your nights—”

“I like having you here.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure you don’t want anything?”

“No. Before Crawford barged in I wanted to ask you if you’re still in love with her. It’s none of my business and yet it is. If I can help you in any way, you know I will.”

“I know that.” He sat opposite her in the big wing chair. “Summer, well—let me start again. When she ended the relationship in May, it hurt. But I learned a lot about myself. I can’t blame her. Then last weekend she ran into me on purpose and well, we’re talking again.”

“Yes.”

“So I don’t know where I am.”

“But you know where she is.”

“Physically, yes.”

Sister drummed her fingers on the arm of the sofa. “These are hard habits to break. Usually the person is broken instead. I hope she makes it. But you can’t get yourself in a relationship where you’re worrying about her all the time.”

“I know. I’m glad she went in voluntarily.”

“She’s a beautiful woman.”

He sighed. “That makes it harder.”

“Funny how we get turned around by looks. My mother said, ‘You can’t judge a book by its cover.’ She was right but I fell for Raymond because he was big, blond, and handsome. But in those days you couldn’t just jump into bed together or live together. The courtship process was definite. As I got to know him I discovered he was quite a lovely man. Well, I don’t need a trip down memory lane and neither do you. If I can help you in any way, I will.”

“I know.”

She rose and he rose with her. “You know the people who sell these damned drugs should be shot. Either that or we legalize them. We have years of dolorous evidence to prove that what we’re doing now doesn’t work.”

“That’s for sure.” He walked her to the door. “Wasn’t it something to see Walter Lungrun? He was in high school when I was in junior high. Went to all the football games. All-state. I loved to watch him. I think he could have made pro even though he went to an Ivy League school. He’s grown up, though. Something’s different.”

“Yes. I suppose facing life and death every day grows up most everybody.”

“I’d kill Crawford if I were Walter.”

She smiled at Douglas. “I don’t know if I would, but I’d take pleasure in long, slow suffering.”

They both laughed as she hopped out the door into the biting wind. She hurried to her back door, opened it, and hung up her coat.

Golliwog sauntered into the mudroom. “You’re late and I’m hungry.”

CHAPTER 21

To prove their dedication both Fontaine and Crawford hunted Saturday morning in filthy conditions. The wind cut them to ribbons; a light rain stinging like needles irritated them.

Although she didn’t expect much, Sister thought the worst that could happen was they’d have a good hound walk. Keeping hounds fit tended to keep the people fit, too.

To her surprise Walter Lungrun was out. The small field kept close together, spending the first half of the early morning jumping ditches, fording swollen creeks, and hunching down in their jackets to stay warm.

Finally hounds hit above a freshly trimmed oat field, cut much too late. The run was short but intense. Sister decided to stop on a good note.

They rode back toward the west, the sharp wind smack in their faces. Combating the elements occupied Fontaine and Crawford.

Dragon, back in the pack, behaved impeccably.

Sister Jane patted Aztec on the neck. She behaved like a lady; no jump fazed her.

A howl ahead of them brought every hound head up.

“What’s that?” Dasher asked.

“Mountain lion,” Cora answered. “And I’m as happy to chase one as a fox. As long as I don’t chase deer, I think I’m in the right.” She glanced up at Shaker, who was trying to decide what to do.

He didn’t want to send his hounds up until he knew exactly what was there. If it was a mountain lion, the scent of it might send some horses into a frenzy. Also, Sister was on a young horse. The horse had a fine mind but still, she was green.

He raised his horn to his lips, then brought it down again. “Sister, let me go ahead. You’ll hear the horn if we can hunt home.”

This was a code between them. No point in telling the field you’re worried about them.

“Fine. Doug should be up there.”

“He’s ahead to the right a bit. Betty’s behind us.” Shaker chirped to the pack; they eagerly trotted ahead of him. He was a huntsman who wanted his hounds in front of him always. Some didn’t but Shaker did.

The young entry, curious, surged ahead of Cora.

“Not so fast,” the strike hound ordered them.

“We’ll stop when we get around the corner.” The three D young hounds plunged forward, the trees bending overhead, the light in the forest failing as the clouds lowered.

They stopped cold. Inky, crouched low but fangs bared, kept her paw on a plump rabbit she’d killed. Circling her was a half-grown mountain lion.

Diana growled, charging forward. “ Leave her!”

The mountain lion, startled, backed off. Dasher and Dragon remained frozen to the spot, which gave Diana enough time to tell Inky, “Go home. Fast. I’ll get the pack on the big cat. Foul your scent any way you can because there are experienced hounds behind us. My brothers don’t know much.”

Inky shot away to the right, scampering over dripping moss and pine needles, skidding down a bank and plunging into a narrow drainage ditch. She paddled in the water for forty yards, then clambered out. The water trick would gain her time but a hound like Cora or Archie would work that opposite bank. They knew the water trick and they were close. Very close. She prayed that Diana could set them on the lion and she wondered that she was foolish enough to square off against the cat. However, it infuriated her that she’d worked hard to bring down that rabbit and the sluggard wanted to steal her dinner.

Diana, rooted to the spot, the rabbit between her paws, shouted for her litter mates: “Follow me!”

They barreled down, putting their noses to the ground as Diana deftly steered them onto the mountain lion’s tracks. The scent, stronger than Inky’s, was easy to follow. Within minutes the whole pack was behind them with only Archie holding his ground bellowing, “The fox went this way.”