Free Loser's Town by Daniel Depp Page B

the faint odor of horse and leather tack, which was not unpleasant to him. It rooted her into this world, this place he loved as well.
    ‘I didn’t think you were coming,’ she said. ‘I got held up in town. I should have called, but I got home and just came straight out here.’
    ‘I got Hoagy all ready for you,’ she said. ‘If you still want to go for a ride. We can be back in time to cook dinner.’
    ‘You all just go on,’ said Mary. ‘I’ve learned how to cook all on my own. Just enjoy yourselves,’ she added sweetly.
    Dee gave her a warning look. Mary ignored her. Dee disappeared back into the house.
    ‘I guarantee,’ said Mary, ‘that you’ll hear water running in a minute. She’ll want to wash the horse off of her. And don’t be surprised if there’s a hint of perfume.’ Mary sighed. ‘I’ve never seen two dumber people.’
    Spandau finished his food, and when Dee returned Spandau could detect the faintest hint of Chanel. Mary looked at him and shook her head. ‘Hmpf,’ she grunted.
    ‘You all set?’ asked Dee.
    He followed her out to the stables, watched her walkacross the yard, the sway of her hips in the clinging blue jeans. Seeing her here, so natural in this place, it was hard to imagine her in the classroom, standing in front of a bunch of second-graders or a meeting full of teachers. But he’d seen both, seen her dressed in the severe blouse and skirt, crisp and formal, the auburn hair done up in a tight spinster’s bun, the reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, standing there tall, uncompromising and unapproachable. He suspected some of the teachers were afraid of her. She stood her ground. But she was a fine teacher and loved the work, loved the children year after year. Still it was like watching some stranger. It wasn’t the same woman who had done a striptease for him in the bathroom doorway, then, damp and soft and smelling of scented soap, climbed into the bed like a cat and lowered herself onto him, holding his hands on her hips, whispering to him, beads of moisture running from her still wet hair down her neck to trickle between her breasts and down her stomach, dampness too falling on Spandau, like a fine rain, as she put her hands on his shoulders and leaned forward above his face and cried out in a small voice that she loved him, that she would always love him.
     
    They called the horse Hoagy because he always looked so damned sad. He was the first birthday present Dee had ever given him, a skinny little yearling then that nobody but Dee thought was going to amount to anything. He was too thin, too long, and showed none of the signs that madefor a top-dollar quarter horse. Dee said anyway he had soul. Beau said he was built more like a goddamn llama than a horse. Mary said that he looked in the face like Hoagy Carmichael, always a little blue. The name stuck. When the time came, it was Spandau who broke and trained him. Even now he was too tall, too long in the leg, with a center of gravity too high to be a good roping horse. But he was. They’d meant for him to be just something for Spandau to ride when he came out to the ranch, but Spandau set him to work with cattle on a neighboring spread. He wasn’t quick to turn and you were sitting up so high he’d damn near shift you off, but he was smart and he had an instinct for what the cow was going to do before it did and that more than made up for it. And he was fast. First time he put Hoagy in a rodeo chute the cowboys laughed their asses off about whether or not camels qualified for roping events. When the chute opened that was the last Spandau heard of it. Hoagy shot out so fast he was nearly on top of the calf and all Spandau had to do was practically lower the rope onto it. Then Hoagy stood firm with a slight backward tug that Spandau had never taught him and the calf flipped onto its back and Spandau had only to tie it. When Spandau left the arena the same cowboys were now asking why the hell the horse