Free Blind Your Ponies by Stanley Gordon West

fitness but trying to outrun something. She had tried running but it gave her too much time to think, so she preferred her excursions into the woods and river bottoms where she could lose herself tracking and observing.
    Sam came to her table and held a can of Mountain Dew.
    “Have a good run?” she asked.
    “Yeah, I got five miles in.” He wiped the arm of his sweatshirt across his sweating face.
    “Would you like to sit down?”
    “Oh, no thanks. I’m dripping and the aroma might kill your appetite.” He backed a step away.
    “Well maybe some other time,” she said, and clearly felt his reluctance to get too chummy on any social level.
    “I better get out of here before Axel comes with a deodorant spray.” He laughed and she sensed a warmth in his smile she’d never noticed before.
    “I hear you’re going to coach another year.”
    “Yeah, thanks for your input.”
    “Input?” she asked, baffled.
    “About coaching, and what a once-in-a-lifetime it is to have a seven-footer.”
    She laughed. “I guess I got caught up in that rush of excitement over Olaf. I didn’t mean to stick my nose in.”
    “No, I needed another perspective. And I really need something to do around here all winter.” He gulped the soda down.
    “Maybe it was bad advice. It looks like you won’t have a seven-footer after all.”
    “I know,” he said, then quickly frowned. “But we’ll have to make do with what we have, as usual.”
    He backed another step from the table and she felt a strange sensation shiver through her. Something in his expression leaked the smallest hint of something else, something she couldn’t name but had an inkling of joy; it made her want to smile.
    Sam glanced at a man exiting the bar and staggering to the front door. All the warmth drained from his face. George Stonebreaker stopped in his tracks when he spotted Sam.
    “Hey, Pickett, you gonna coach that bunch of losers again?”
    The voice of the huge, unshaven man in bib overalls, a denim work shirt, and a sweat-stained cowboy hat boomed for everyone in the Blue Willow to hear. Diana suspected he’d been at the bar four or five beers too long.
    Sam nodded and faced Stonebreaker across an unoccupied table.
    “Well, my boy ain’t playing, that’s for sure. He’s wasted enough time stumbling around with those other pansies. He show up, you tell him he ain’t playing this year.”
    “I can’t do that.” Sam spoke so quietly, Diana thought his voice had a quiver in it. “You’ll have to tell him,” Sam said.
    “He don’t pay me no mind anymore, got his nose up his ass. You tell him.”
    Stonebreaker pointed a meaty finger at Sam and he squinted. Diana could feel the tension in the hushed restaurant.
    “If he plays with those geldings you’ll answer to me, ya hear.” Stone-breaker slammed a fist on the table, rattling silverware and salt and pepper shakers. “To me!”
    Axel came from the kitchen in his white apron and rolled up sleeves. “You get on home now, George. Let these folks enjoy their meal.”
    Stonebreaker glanced at Axel and then turned back to Sam.
    “I don’t want him playin’, Pickett.”
    Axel stood next to Sam. “That’s enough, George,” Axel said in a soothing voice. “You head on home.”
    Stonebreaker abruptly stomped out and banged the screen door behind him. Only then did Diana see the baseball bat Axel held at his side under the long apron.
    The Blue Willow immediately went into a buzz and Axel, wiping sweat from his bald head with a hanky, apologized to the customers. Then he turned to Diana and Sam. “I’m not letting that man drink in here anymore. He’s a mean bastard and a sorry excuse for a human being. He can go do his drinking somewhere else.”
    When Axel headed for the kitchen, Sam set the can of Mountain Dew on the table.
    “Who said things were dull in Willow Creek?” he said and flashed a thin smile.
    Diana saw how the soda can shook in Sam’s hand. “Can’t somebody do something