07-Hounded to Death by Rita Mae Brown

Author:Rita Mae Brown [Brown, Rita Mae]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Retail
ISBN: 9780345513298
Publisher: Ballantine Books
Published: 2008-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Edwards, with the help of his wife, a nurse, who was the other whipper-in, managed to get through his angina attack.

Grant Fuller, however, had vanished into thin air—or, in this case, thick, moist air.

CHAPTER 11

To be foxhunters, humans, hounds, and horses need to be physically tough, possess stamina, and exhibit a healthy sense of humor. The horses seem to have the best senses of humor, knowing exactly when to discomfit their rider to achieve maximum humiliation.

Gunpowder, old but still fit and strong, was healing rapidly. The swelling was down and he was bored shitless standing in a stall, so bored he kicked the walls, despite his injury, and was all the more furious when he couldn’t chew on the stall doors or windows; they had iron bars. He tried one chomp, which put an end to that.

Since no one rushed to baby him, he thought screaming might help. It did.

Dan Clement called Sister, informing her that Gunpowder was recovering enough to be ugly. He’d still need to finish his antibiotic cycle, but please could she carry him home?

Although tired from Sunday’s events at the hound show, Sister pulled the rig out but then thought better of taking off alone. She might need Shaker just in case Gunpowder decided not to be grateful for her efforts to save him.

Shaker cut off the power hose, changed from his wellies to his trusty old mulehide Justin boots, and hopped in next to the boss.

The big diesel engine of the dually rumbled as they pulled out of the circular drive at the stable.

“I still can’t believe a deluge worthy of Noah about washed us away up at Morven and here not a drop.” Sister shifted up.

“Central Virginia has its own weather system.”

“Well”—Sister was fascinated by weather—“Virginia truly is the buffer between north and south. Our swath here in the country is the true boundary between two different weather cycles, soil differences, crop possibilities. Lakes of air jam up next to the mountains, then slide off, hit Hangman’s Ridge, creep over, and slide down to us before heading east. I mean, we could have a weather report just for us.”

“It is strange,” said Shaker. “Twenty miles south of here they can grow Bermuda grass and it will winter through. We can’t. Twenty miles north and they can plant certain kinds of alfalfa and orchard grass that would burn to a crisp here in the summer.”

“We’ve been pretty lucky with the alfalfa and orchard grass. I study those seed catalogs.”

“I don’t have the patience for it. Hounds use up all my patience.” He settled back in the comfortable seat. “Nothing more about Grant Fuller?”

“Nope. Barry called this morning. The sheriff ’s department hasn’t found him; his car sits in the parking lot. No crime has been committed.” She breathed deeply. “They say.” She downshifted for the sharp curve ahead. “Very weird. Two bizarre occurrences at hound shows.”

“I’m glad we’re not going to Bryn Mawr’s show—just in case.” Shaker sighed.

“You know, I am, too.” Sister pulled around behind the stables and cut the motor.

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