Puss 'N Cahoots

responded.
    “Thank God.” She leaned against the trunk. “What wonderful lemonade.”
    “Mother’s recipe, and she said it was her mother’s recipe, and so it goes.” Harry smiled, pouring more lemonade into Renata’s waxed-paper cup. “Where did you learn to ride?”
    “Kentucky. Lincoln County. Saw my first Saddlebred before I could walk and, I swear, that was that.”
    “It’s a different seat.” Harry mentioned the type of riding. “We ride hunt seat. We foxhunt, so it’s not exactly the hunt seat you see in the show ring, but close.”
    “Never tried.”
    “It’s a big thrill, but anything you love is exciting. Saddlebreds are like ballerinas; I can see why you fell in love.”
    Booty Pollard sauntered by, dug his boot heels in, and stopped. “Fitting right into the Kalarama family, Renata.”
    Miss Nasty flipped the bird at Pewter. The monkey wore a light green halter top with a matching short skirt, the green being the same color as Booty’s mint-green polo shirt.
    Fair stiffened. “Booty, I know you wouldn’t want a client like Renata in your barn, now, would you?”
    Booty was direct. “I’d kill to have a client like Renata. I’d kill for Renata.” He grinned.
    “You’d have to,” she fired back, which made all of them laugh, for Booty could take a joke on himself.
    “Pay attention to me.”
Miss Nasty clenched her jaws together.
    “Drop dead,”
Pewter replied to the monkey, which set off more chatter.
    “Coffee? Iced tea? Lemonade?” Harry shaded her eyes as she looked up at Booty; he was easy on the eyes.
    “Nothing, thanks.” He noticed Ward Findley leading a quality black mare by the practice arena. He was heading to his green and white horse van. She wore a green blanket piped in white, Ward’s colors. “Nice horse. Must be one Ward’s carrying to a farm. You know, he does a pretty good business vanning horses. Ever notice how Ward always sticks his whip in his back pocket or his boot? He’s kind of like a guy who isn’t a very good polo player, so he wears his whites two hours before the match and two hours afterward.” He guffawed. “Hey, he’s not on food stamps, so Ward’s contributing to the economy.” He shrugged.
    “Right,” Fair succinctly agreed.
    Mrs. Murphy watched the beautiful mare step right into the van. She said in passing,
“Bet she’s expensive. And from the same line as Queen Esther, too. Same head conformation.”
    A few strides behind Ward walked Charly, who wasn’t paying much mind to Ward. One wouldn’t have known Charly was a trainer until it was time to ride. He wore deck shoes, khaki pants, a solid white T-shirt of high-priced cotton. A ribbon belt, deep blue with a red pinstripe, added a little color.
    “Mr. Prep.” Booty indicated Charly. “You know, it’s going to give me great pleasure to beat his ass Saturday night. I’ll grant you Frederick the Great is a good horse and Charly will get the most out of him, but Callaway’s Senator is at the top of his game. I’m going to cream Charly.”
    “What about Larry?” Harry asked.

    “Next year—and who knows how many years after that—Point Guard will rule. But not this year. This is Senator’s year. Last class Saturday night, and I’m telling you to put your money on me because I’ll ride right over him. Hey, after the show I might just punch out his lights for good measure. Can’t stand the bastard. Excuse my French, ladies.” He paused, then smiled. “But you’ve heard worse.” He wanted to see if Renata would react, since he figured she and Charly had been lovers. There was too much emotion when Renata quit him, and once he settled down Charly was too nonchalant.
    “Charly won’t be a pushover Saturday night.” Renata betrayed little.
    “I’m going to make him eat dirt,” Booty promised.
    Mrs. Murphy observed the high-spirited man.
“If he hates Charly so much, he didn’t act like it early this morning.”
    “Hypocrite,”
Tucker remarked.
    “Or a good actor.”
Mrs. Murphy lifted her silky eyebrows, as Miss Nasty, suddenly silent, listened intently.
    “I hate that you two went off without me,”
Pewter huffed.
    “Wake you up in the middle of the night? Not me,”
Tucker replied.
    “Ditto.”
Mrs. Murphy leaned on the dog.
    “I can wake up.”
Pewter lifted her chin.
    “Yes, you can, and you’re mean as snakeshit.”
Mrs. Murphy laughed.
    “How crude.”
Pewter had decided she liked Renata anyway, so she sat in her lap.
    All heads