Breeding Ground Read Online Free PDF

restore old houses and public buildings with architecture that deserved it. She’d design homes that fit the local landscape instead of cluttering it up. She’d take a job in a Five-&-Dime rather than build junk.
    The day she’d quit her job in Lexington – the day after Tom’s real funeral at their church outside of Versailles, Kentucky – she’d felt as though she’d been freed from a life of squalid prostitution. The two weeks after that had been the worst – knowing how close it was to being over, working round the clock, trying to finish projects she’d detested from the start.
    Now, having had eight days of freedom, she could think about things that were fun. Like how to thank Toss for moving in while she was gone. She’d almost decided on stud fee money for a good stallion to breed his best mare – when she started thinking about writing a journal to help her come to grips with losing Tom and her mom. She was wondering how to start, and what to say about Nate – when she heard hard soles crunching gravel.
    â€œIs that you, Miss Josie?”
    Whoever it was was jogging toward her, coming up the hill in the drive, angling up on her right from McCowans Ferry Road, almost half a mile off.
    â€œCan I help you?” Jo kept on walking, the wind scouring her face, watching a tall, thin, sandy haired man trot up to her and stop.
    â€œI’m Buddy Jones, Miss Josie. You and me went to grade school together till me and the folks moved on.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and leaned back on his boot heels. “We was next door, when you lived over to the tourist court your daddy used to run.”
    â€œYou were three years behind me in school. Right? And when we’d swim in the water tank, you liked to be the one to throw the rocks in to make the snakes scoot out of the way.”
    â€œYep. You got that right. Sorry about Tom.”
    â€œThanks. I remember your mom really well. She helped me clean the rooms in the motel sometimes, and we’d rush so we could play canasta. Where’d you folks move? Is that your dog?”
    A small puppy had appeared at the top of the driveway hill, and had run up to lean against Buddy.
    â€œNo, ma’am. He followed me up the drive. Clear from up by the road. I reckoned he lived here and got himself lost.”
    â€œHerself.” Jo was holding the puppy, about the size of a loaf of bread, a caramel tan, like a fawn-colored boxer with a little bit longer snoot, shivering slightly as Jo held her in the crook of her left arm. “So where was it you moved?”
    â€œLouisiana. My dad had kin down there. We liked it pretty fine. There was all these Sunday horse races that kids got to ride in, and Laverne and me, we raced a whole lot. We could earn good money, for just bein’ kids, and we learned a lotta ’bout horses you cain’t learn but by doing.”
    â€œThat’s the way it is, don’t you think?”
    â€œYeah. I surely do. We been back six years now, living over to Paris. Ma died before we come back. You remember Laverne? He was younger than me.”
    â€œI remember he rode really well.”
    â€œLaverne’s been doing some hot walkin’ and exercise ridin’, trying to get to be a jockey. He’s gettin’ some rides, but you know how it is, it’s a hard business to break into. ’Course, I got too tall, as you can see. I want to be a trainer, myself, but that’s a long ways off.”
    â€œWalk on toward the house with me. The storm’s moving in quick.”
    â€œI heard there was hail up to Louisville.”
    That was followed by an awkward silence. That Jo decided to end. “So what can I do for you, Buddy?”
    â€œWell, Miss Josie—”
    â€œJust call me Jo, okay, Buddy, please?”
    â€œSure. Jo. I guess you’d say I’m in kinda a bind. You remember Becky Carter? Her pa works over to