Free Breeding Ground by Sally Wright

for whatever information Toss might’ve left – while Emmy leapt and scooted around the side yard.
    Jo found his note on the office desk, then walked out into the yard from the kitchen, and sat on the old wooden swing Tom had made her after her dad died. As soon as she sat, Emmy flew straight at her, tan ears flapping, and threw herself in Jo’s lap.
    They sat there for quite awhile, Jo’s bare feet sliding through the grass, her long legs straight in front of her, the small white-chested boxerish puppy quietly watching the view as they gently swayed three feet forward, then three feet back.
    â€œWell, Emmy…” Emmy looked up at Jo, as Jo sighed and rubbed her chest. “I better go get it done.”
    â€œThis is Jo Grant, Mrs. Johns. I wanted to catch you before you left Louisville. I’m sorry to inconvenience you, but I’ve decided not to sell Sam… I know. Yes… If I change my mind I will. Thank you for being understanding.”
    She’d actually sounded irate. But Jo stood in the brick-walled kitchen after she’d hung up, her back to the big brick fireplace, and smiled without noticing, before she went off to get a shower.
    Alice Franklin sat at her desk at Blue Grass Horse Vans and read the letter for the third time. She tucked it back in its envelope, then slipped it into the safe behind her desk, carefully twirling the heavy black dial to reset the combination.
    She stared out the window for a minute – her blue-gray eyes worried, her wide mouth tense – till her secretary rang to tell her she’d gotten her a doctor’s appointment early the next morning.
    Alice thanked her. And picked up the plans for the booth she was designing for a national horse equipment convention where all kinds of equine products were showcased every year, and their company would use the booth to promote their vans and trailers.
    Her reading glasses were on her nose and her whole face was concentrated, the classic oval, fine-boned face of a woman somewhere around sixty who must have been beautiful when she was young, and was still striking now. She laid a sheet of tracing paper across the booth elevation, and was beginning to draw a different kind of counter – when her older son, Richard, walked through her door.
    â€œCan I speak to you for a minute?” He’d already sat before he asked, as though it never occurred to him that the answer wouldn’t be yes.
    â€œOf course.” Alice took her glasses off, then smoothed her salt-and-pepper hair toward a large oval chignon, considering the tension radiating from Richard, the tightly crossed legs, the jiggling foot, the hands gripping the arms of his chair, the weak chin set hard, the forehead wrinkled above sandy brows – before she said, “So what’s on your mind?”
    â€œI wanted to ask you something that—” He swallowed fast, and stared out her window, then started again. “It’s nothing new. It’s been in the back of my mind for a long time.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œI feel it’s time I had more responsibility. You’re head of Personnel. It should come from you to Dad.”
    â€œYou haven’t talked to him?”
    â€œNo! No. Not till I spoke with you.”
    â€œIt normally happens the other way ’round, don’t you think? Managers inform the people who work for them when they’ll be given a new position?”
    â€œIt doesn’t have to in a family business. Sometimes you have to speak out.”
    â€œMaybe. But—”
    â€œDad’s not getting any younger, and it’s time he took things easier.”
    â€œ
He
doesn’t think so, I can tell you that.”
    â€œI know he doesn’t. But if he gave up administrative control, he could concentrate on engineering. That’s what he likes best, and then—”
    â€œWhat position did you have in mind for yourself?”
    â€œGeneral Manager. I’ve