Big Book Of Lesbian Horse Stories

Big Book Of Lesbian Horse Stories by Alisa Surkis

Book: Big Book Of Lesbian Horse Stories by Alisa Surkis Read Free Book Online
Authors: Alisa Surkis
lips met, Peg knew that everything was all right again.
    â€œPat.” Mrs. Huntley’s jovial voice broke into their tender interlude. “There are stalls to be mucked out—that is,” she added, peering into the stall with a smile, “if you are still working here!”
    â€œYes, ma’am!” exclaimed Pat, and they all laughed together. Peg helped Pat clean stalls and the morning flew by. When Uncle Roger telegraphed his approval of Pat with winks and nods as he drove them to the country club, Peg thought she couldn’t contain any more happiness. Luncheon was gay, with Uncle Roger telling funny stories of his adventures in Hong Kong over the Caesar salads and roast beef. As the meat plates were cleared away, Uncle Roger questioned Pat about her ambition to be a veterinarian. “My roommate, Bruce, knows some people at Cornell,” said Uncle Roger. “Maybe you and Peg should come to the city for a weekend sometime, and we could arrange a chat. How would you like that?”
    Peg met Pat’s glance, each filled with delight. “That sounds lovely, Uncle Roger!” cried Peg. “When you’re a vet, Pat, you can tend to the horses in my stable!”
    â€œWonderful idea,” approved Uncle Roger. “Ah,” he said as three plates of floating island were set flaming before them, “now this is something like it!”

P ASTURES OF P ASSION
    S qu-e-e-e-al! Oreola woke up with a start as the automobile came to a sudden stop. She peered through the dust-covered window and saw that Pa and Uncle Jo-Jo had already gotten out and were looking under the hood of the old Model-T. “Might be a piece of tumbleweed got kinda twisted ‘round the rear axle agin’, like in Sweetwater,” she heard Uncle Jo-Jo suggest. Pa said nothing. He just sighed and got down on his hands and knees to crawl under the jalopy.
    â€œOrie, I’m going to see if your pa needs help. You keep an eye on the young’uns,” said Oreola’s mother, struggling out from under a pile of bedding in the front seat. The whole car was stuffed so full of their belongings, the clothing, farm-tools, and the bits of furniture they’d been able to take from the farm in Oklahoma after the bank foreclosed, that there was hardly any room for Ma, Pa, Uncle Jo-Jo, the five Budd children, and Grandma Jennie.
    Grandma Jennie sat at the other end of the backseat from Oreola, knitting and sucking her toothless gums. In between her and Oreola were the four little Budds—Jeff, the twins Bob and Bunnie, and little Loula Mae Budd, who was only two. Now all of them were awake, whimpering and fidgeting so that Oreola could hardly stand it.
    â€œGrandma Jennie, I’m goin’ to climb up top and git me some fresh air,” said Oreola. “Likely we’ll be here for some time.”
    Grandma Jennie nodded and cackled to herself in that way she had. Oreola cranked down the window, squeezed out from under the rolled-up rug that lay across the little Budds, and nimbly climbed through the opening. Getting a foothold on the rearview mirror, she grasped onto the tie ropes and pulled herself to the top of the car, where the mattresses were piled. Way up there, Oreola could feel a faint cool breeze. She lay back on the topmost mattress and tried to imagine, for the thousandth time, what California would be like.
    For the last year, the family had talked of little else besides California—how green it was, how the fruit practically fell off the trees right into your mouth, how a man could find enough work there to feed his family—unlike Oklahoma, where crops and jobs and whole families had just disappeared in a cloud of red dust these past few years. Of all the Budd children, only Oreola could even remember a time when there’d been green on their farm and more to eat than grits. Oreola thought about the raisin that each of the Budd children had found in their Christmas

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