Рита Браун - Pay Dirt

Tucker, thrilled to have the humans all to herself, kept up no matter what the pace. Corgis, hardy and amazingly fast, herd horses as readily as they do cattle. This was a trait Harry had had to modify when Tucker was a puppy, otherwise a swift kick might have ended the dog's career although the breed is nimble enough to get out of the way. Tucker merrily trotted to the side of the big gray mare, Poptart. She hoped that her mother would flirt with Fair. Tucker loved Fair, but Harry had signed off flirting the day of her divorce. Tucker knew Harry was usually forthright, but a little flirting couldn't hurt. She wanted the two back together.

"—right over the ears. Funniest damn thing you ever saw, and when she hit the ground she yelled 'Shit' so loud"—Fair grinned in the telling—"that the judges couldn't ignore it. No ribbon for Little Marilyn."

"Was her mom there?"

"Mim and the old guard. All of them. Clucking and carrying on. You'd think she'd have the sense to get away from her mother and go out on her own."

Harry drawled, "Thirty-three is a long, long adolescence. She could have stayed in the house she had with her ex, but she said the colors of the walls reminded her of him. So she moved back to that dependency on Mim's farm. I know I couldn't do it."

"Sometimes I feel sorry for her. You know, everything and nothing."

"I do, too, until I have to pay my bills, and then I'm too jealous for sympathy." A cloud swept low over her head. Harry felt she could reach up and grab a handful of swirling cotton candy. "The hell with money on a day like this. Nature is perfect."

"That she is." Fair spied the old log jump up ahead that Harry and her father had built fifteen years ago, big, solid locust trunks lashed together with heavy rope that Harry replaced every few years. It was three feet six inches. It looked bigger because of the bulk. He squeezed Gin Fizz into a good canter and headed toward the jump, sailing over.

Harry followed. Tucker prudently dashed around the end.

"Who did win the class at the benefit hunter show?" Harry remembered to ask.

"Aysha, with her mother in fullattendance and Norman cheering. You'd have thought it was Ascot."

"Good. Say, did I tell you that Aysha was a docent up at Ash Lawn when I was there the other day?"

"She did go to William and Mary, didn't she?" Fair recalled as he slowed to a walk.

"Kerry was there, too, a scheduling foul-up, and Laura Freely. Little Marilyn was in charge, of course, but what set the day off was that this biker came up and had to be escorted off the premises___" She realized that in bringing up Ash Lawn, she would remind Fair that she'd been up there with Blair, which would provoke a frosty response. Her voice trailed off.

"A biker?"

"Hell's Angel type."

"At Ash Lawn?" Fair laughed. "Maybe he's a descendant of James Monroe. What were you and Blair doing up there anyway?"

"Oh—Blair had never seen it. He wanted to do something relaxing."

Fair's lips clamped together. "Oh."

"Now, Fair, don't get in a huff. He's my neighbor. I like him."

" Yeah, Fair, lighten up . "The dog added her two cents.

"Are you serious about this guy, or what?"

Harry and her ex-husband had been a pair since kindergarten, and she knew his moods. She didn't want Fair to sink into one of his manly pouts. Men never admitted to pouting, but that's exactly what he did. Sometimes it took her days to pull him out of one. "Number one, I don't have to answer to you. I don't ask you questions." She decided to attack.

"Because I'm not seeing anyone."

"For now."

"That was then. I'm not seeing anyone and I don't want anyone but you. I admit my mistake."

"Make that plural," Harry wryly suggested.

"Well—I admit my mistakes and I repent them. You know you're going to get over this and we'll—"

"Fair, don't be directive. I hate it when you tell me what I'm going to do, and feel and think. That got us into trouble in the first place, and I'm not saying I don't have my share of faults. As wives go, I was a real bust. Can't cook, don't want to learn. Can't iron but I can wash okay. I keep a clean house but sometimes my mind is untidy, and I forgot your birthday more times than I care to admit. Never remembered our anniversary either, for that matter. And the more you'd withdraw from me, the harder I'd work so I wouldn't have to talk to you—I was afraid I'd blow up. I should have blown up."

He pondered that. "You know—maybe you should have."

"Done is done. I don't know what tomorrow will bring, and it's not going to bring togetherness if you get pushy."

"You're the only woman in the world who talks to me like that."

"I suppose the rest of them swoon, bat their lashes, and tell you how wonderful you are. Bet their voices coo."

He suppressed a grin. "Let's just say they shower me with attention. And I have to be nice about it. I can't cut them to shreds over it." He paused. "You make me so mad, I could—I don't know. But I'm never bored with you like I'm bored with the, uh, conventional model."

"Thank you."

"Will you go with me to Mim's party next Saturday?"

"Oh"—her face registered confusion—"I'd love to, but I already have a date."

"Blair?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"Dammit to hell!"

"He asked me first, Fair."

"I have to line up for a date with my wife!"

"Your ex-wife."

"You don't feel ex to me." He fumed. "I can't stand that guy. The other day Mim was carrying on about his curly hair. So what? Curly hair? That's a fine recommendation for a relationship."

"Apparently it is for Marilyn Sanburne." Hany couldn't help herself. She wished she were a better person, but his discomfort was too delicious.

"Then I am asking for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years Eve."

"What about Labor Day weekend?" she teased him.

"Laminitis conference in Lexington," he replied, referring to the hoof disease.

"I was only kidding."

"I'm not. Will you save me those dates?"

"Fair, let's just take it as it comes. I'll say yes to the next summer party—someone's bound to have one—and we can go from there." She sighed. "Given the way the days are clicking off, I ought to say yes to Thanksgiving."

" Tempus fitgit ," he agreed. "Do you remember Mrs. Heckler singing her congratulations to us?"

"Yeah." She grew wistful. "Isn't it funny what we do remember? I remember that old sweater Dad would wear every homecoming."

"His Crozet football letter sweater." Fair smiled. "I don't think he ever missed a game. Your dad was a good athlete. He lettered in football, baseball, and didn't he play basketball too?"

"Yeah. In those days I think everybody did everything. It was better. Healthier. Tenth-graders now are dreaming of their en-dorsemenf contracts. Doesn't anybody play for fun anymore? Dad sure did."

"What year did he graduate?"

"Forty-five. He was too young for the war. Bothered him all his life. He remembered some of the boys who never came home."

"Thank God my father made it back from Korea—seems like no one remembers that war except the guys who fought in it."

"I'm glad he came back too. Where would you be?" She urged Poptart over next to Gin Fizz, reached over, and punched Fair in the arm.

"Love tap? Mother, can't you brush his hair with your fingertips or

something ?"'Tucker advised. Tucker had been watching too much TV. She declared it was to study human habits, but Mrs. Murphy said there was plenty of that to study in front of her face. Tucker loved the television because it put her to sleep.

"Tucker, don't yip so loud," Harry pleaded.

" You're hopeless!"Tbit dog ran in front of them. She could see Mrs. Murphy sitting in the hayloft door. " The soul of romance ."